


True Love Restraint

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Grooming, Obsessive Behavior, Out of Character, Past Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion, Sharing a Bed, Vaginal Fingering, Virginity Kink, Yandere, as in you wouldnt see this happen in canon but technically it could justifiably happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Dorothea had a bad habit of projecting herself onto other people. She was well-aware of this, and tried to stop it. If she couldn’t stop it, she tried to keep it to herself. But, in the end, she was just as human as any of her acquaintances or friends, and when she saw human aspects in them, she couldn’t help but relate. Their flaws, their accomplishments, their fears, their strengths...she would look at them, and look at herself, and wonder if she’d finally found someone who understood her.Petra was no exception.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 21
Kudos: 40
Collections: Horny Void





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags and decide whether you wanna read or not. Or, you can find out how fast I delete hate comments (very fast). Pick your poison!
> 
> Inspired by some anonmeme discussions. This fic got out of my control very very quickly.

_An uncontrollable impulse,_

_I want you all to myself._

_You, my beloved, belong only to me._

* * *

Dorothea had a bad habit of projecting herself onto other people. She was well-aware of this, and tried to stop it. If she couldn’t stop it, she tried to keep it to herself. But, in the end, she was just as human as any of her acquaintances or friends, and when she saw human aspects in them, she couldn’t help but relate. Their flaws, their accomplishments, their fears, their strengths...she would look at them, and look at herself, and wonder if she’d finally found someone who understood her.

Petra was no exception.

Petra was an against-the-odds kind of person, Dorothea thought. She was thriving at the academy, despite being so far from home, despite being in what could only be called a dubious political situation, and despite the language barrier. Dorothea was doing something similar: she was the only commoner in the Black Eagles house, and she knew that many were awaiting her downfall, but she was succeeding all the same.

She was still so young, though. The age gap between them wasn’t ridiculously large, but Dorothea still saw something in her that made it look like she didn’t know much about the world. She was book-smart, sure, and knew more about politics and strategy than Dorothea ever would, but—fifteen! Goddess, Dorothea remembered being fifteen. She remembered every second of it, even though it would have been much better for her to forget it.

Dorothea wondered if it was her age that made her take such an interest in Petra, but she quickly discovered that that was not the case. She had assumed that Petra was the youngest student there, but one glance at the Golden Deer’s little prodigy—her name slipped Dorothea’s mind—proved that that wasn’t true. And yet, Dorothea didn’t feel drawn to her at all, didn’t feel the same instinct to protect that came over her when she saw Petra.

She saw herself in others a lot, she knew that, but there was clearly something special about Petra. Something that made Dorothea worry. Because being too similar to Dorothea was never a good thing. Petra came from different circumstances, and in Brigid, she likely would have had nothing to worry about, but in Fodlan, she had no stake. Especially when she was _asking_ people not to refer to her by her title...people were going to take advantage of her. And just by looking at her, Dorothea could see that she had never experienced that yet.

Dorothea tried not to stare too long, looking at Petra from across rooms. She tried, and she failed. In the end, protecting girls like Petra—girls like the old Dorothea—was her duty.

She’d keep an eye out. That was all.

* * *

Petra was incredibly self-sufficient. Even when she was asking others for help, she had this air of independence about her, like she could have figured it out on her own if she’d taken the time. Dorothea...didn’t want to call this aspect of her a negative trait. But, it did make Dorothea worry. She was like that, too. Never had to rely on anybody, could do everything on her own, and always felt alone as a result. Petra seemed happy, sure, but Dorothea did, too, when in reality, she was anything but.

The thought of Petra suffering in silence, like Dorothea had for so long, was intolerable. She approached Petra again, making sure they were somewhere private. The last time she’d opened herself up to Petra, they were in a fairly public area, with other people passing by. Perhaps Petra was too shy to admit any shortcomings or problems she had while in front of others. Dorothea didn’t want to corner her—especially not after hearing Hubert liken her to a scared animal—but an intimate environment often helped to initiate intimate conversations.

Dorothea caught her in the classroom, studying right after dinner. She’d brought a sweet bun with her, held in one hand as she wrote with the other. Dorothea considered sneaking up on her, then decided against it. She didn’t want to be cruel, after all.

Instead, she announced herself as she walked in, hands clasped behind her back. “Petra? Burning the candle at both ends again?”

“Of course not. That would be dangerous...!”

Dorothea chuckled. “Right, right. But you’re going to be up late again?”

“Not very late. Sleeping is important,” Petra said. Dorothea could still hear a bit of the sweet bun in her mouth, but she swallowed in between sentences, finally turning away from her book. “And you, Dorothea?”

“I’ll doze off in a little while,” Dorothea responded, dismissively. “I was coming to see you before I did, though. I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing. In general.”

“I am doing swell! I am enjoying the professor’s lectures, even when they are difficult, and everyone is very friendly.”

Dorothea slid into the chair next to Petra’s as Petra was talking, resting her elbows on the table. “That’s great, Petra! You know I get worried about you,” Dorothea said, flashing Petra a quick smile. “So, everything’s okay? No problems at all? Like I said, if you ever feel like you’re in need of something, you can always come to me.”

“You are always so considerate, Dorothea. The only problem I am having is figuring how to repay your kindness!”

What a girl, what a girl, what a girl. Dorothea couldn’t believe that people like her, so genuine and so sweet, still existed in such a hellscape of a world. It was amazing. “Don’t you ever worry about that. I’m doing this because I want to, okay? Because I care about you.” And for other reasons that would be too embarrassing and confusing to say aloud, of course. “Don’t ever hesitate to ask someone if you need something. Just know that you’re not alone.”

Petra smiled, setting the rest of the sweet bun down on the small plate she’d brought with it. She had been a little distracted before, maybe, but right then, she looked at Dorothea with sincere eyes. “Many thanks. It is sometimes hard to do things on my own. I will do my best to find solutions by myself, but if I am unable, I will definitely seek out the help of my friends!”

“There we go,” Dorothea cheered. She glanced down at Petra’s hands; one had fingers that were shining with oil from the sweet bun, and the other had dots of ink on it from writing. “Now, what’s this you’re writing? Is it an assignment for the professor?”

“Ah! Well, not exactly,” Petra said. Dorothea had learned to read people’s bodies as well as their words, and the way Petra twisted to shield the papers in front of her made Dorothea think it was something she did not want to share. Dorothea leaned in a bit, tilting her head, silently asking for more detail. “The professor thought it would be good to practice Fodlan’s language by writing about things that are happening in my day. So in the evenings, I talk about what I was thinking, or doing, or saying, or hearing. The professor said it is not uncommon. There is a word for it, but it slips my mind...”

“Oh! It’s a diary?”

“Yes! That is it!” Dorothea’s heart swelled when Petra went to write it down, before turning back to Dorothea again. “It forces me to remember words I have learned in order to write everything down in great detail.”

“I bet! I don’t think I’d ever be able to write down everything I was thinking in a foreign language. But, besides it being helpful for learning, it’s nice to get things off your chest, too, right? Like, your feelings?”

Again, Petra twisted to hide the papers, folding her arms on the table near it to fully block Dorothea’s view. It might not have even been intentional. Dorothea wanted to read it, so badly, knowing that Petra wanted to protect it. “Yes, it has many uses...although, translating everything that I may feel can be difficult, and sometimes embarrassing...”

“Oh, I see. I totally get it, I couldn’t keep up with a diary for even one moon. If you can ever find the words, though, you should definitely try writing it down—if you’re angry, or sad. Or even if you’re just really happy about something! Or if you have a crush...”

Petra chuckled a bit at the last part, and Dorothea caught the faintest hint of a blush. “I will try. I am not sure I will be able to write about...all of those things, though.”

“As long as you do your best,” Dorothea said. Petra seemed to be a little skittish, so Dorothea decided she’d done enough for the day. At the very least, Petra seemed to trust her as a friend. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just be sure to head to bed eventually, alright? I better not see you looking tired in the morning!”

“No worries! I will get ample rest for tomorrow,” Petra promised. “You should be doing the same.”

Dorothea almost wanted to laugh. It wouldn’t be hard to fall asleep, with Petra’s scent fresh on her nose and her smile fresh in her mind. The only thing that would keep her up was her worries. “Will do, Petra.”

* * *

Dorothea was, at first, concerned that Petra had taken their conversation lightly. But shortly after, Petra approached her with help on an essay. Dorothea tended to have a way with words, and she was glad that Petra came to her for something that she could help her with so easily. Really, she was happy Petra came to her for anything at all. She only grew happier when Petra bashfully came to her for advice on makeup, and then on table etiquette. Each time, she apologized for what she perceived to be an intrusion, but Dorothea couldn’t imagine why she should ever feel sorry. Dorothea liked feeling needed.

It was nice, at first, to watch Petra become a needier version of herself, being more selfless and letting other people help her.

But, in the end, Dorothea hadn’t really intended for it to be “people” that Petra went to for help. She had intended for it to be her. 

Dorothea wasn’t _insane,_ and she knew that her expectations were rather outlandish, but she also knew that jealousy was just part of being human. Someone like Petra probably didn’t experience it much—she wasn’t similar to Dorothea in that regard, thankfully—but Dorothea was jealous by nature, protective, even. It was just how she was.

She was doing everyone involved a favor, she told herself, when she decided to sway Petra away from Linhardt. Lin was a sweet boy, really. A bit on the lazy side, at first looking every bit the pampered noble, but Dorothea had spoken to him, and had done away with any preconceived notions she’d had about him. But there was something about him near Petra that Dorothea couldn’t put her finger on...

He thought her a pest, it looked like. Petra wasn’t picking up on it, because she hadn’t developed that keen sense that let her know when she wasn’t wanted, that was all. So when she kept bothering him to critique her spearwork in-depth, to train with her, she didn’t realize that he wanted her to leave. The thought made Dorothea’s heart ache. She thought of all the times she’d been talked about behind her back, even to her face, and she didn’t notice. She thought of the day she realized that realizing how much people disliked you was a talent.

But it was a talent that Petra had yet to learn, so Dorothea had to pick up the slack.

“Petra?”

Petra was in the training grounds, a whole new world to Dorothea. She was only ever there to see Petra, when she thought about it. Petra was still swinging her spear, just as she had been doing while she was talking to Linhardt. When Dorothea came, though, she stopped, smiling through the sweat on her face. “Dorothea! Good evening. It is not often that you are visiting the training grounds.”

“No, not very often—there’s not much for me here, if you think about it,” Dorothea said, rushing past the small talk. “Listen, Petra...what did you and Lin talk about earlier?”

“Lin...Linhardt?”

“Yes.”

“I was experiencing difficulty in the way I thrust my spear,” Petra began. “Linhardt was giving me advice on how to improve!”

“Ah, he did? I see,” Dorothea said. She had to be very careful. Between the language barrier and the delicacy of the situation, every word that left her lips was important. “Did everything go well? He helped you out?”

“Hm...he did, but...” Dorothea perked up. “I may have asked too much of him. Some of his words were confusing, so I asked him to demonstrate with his body.” Dorothea flinched. She had to remind Petra later, how to word things like that. “However, Linhardt does not like physical training...”

Dorothea sucked her teeth, shook her head, pouted her lips. As expected, Petra furrowed her brows in concern. “Oh, I thought it might have been like that.”

“Thought what would have been...like what?”

“Well, Petra,” Dorothea began, with a sigh. “People can be...very prickly. Sometimes, they don’t really desire to chat with you.”

“I-I understand,” Petra said, although she sounded a bit confused. “If Linhardt did not want to be speaking, he—”

“It would be easier to say that he didn’t want you around, right? I think so, too, but in Fodlan, it’s very rude to tell someone outright that you don’t desire their company.” Dorothea began to walk around Petra, always staying in front of her; Petra might have gotten nervous, if she went out of plain view. “People might not _say_ it, but favors and conversations might bore or irritate them, beyond what they say. I’m sure Linhardt looked a little cranky when you asked him to demonstrate for you, didn’t he?”

Petra’s grip on her spear was uneasy. Dorothea didn’t have to know how to wield one to notice that. “He did...b-but, there is no need to worry. He merely said he did not like training. I do not think he was having frustrations with me.”

“That’s what’s so difficult,” Dorothea insisted. How could she make Petra realize that not everyone was her friend? It was a painful truth, but she had to learn it, just like Dorothea did. It was different, to learn that truth from someone who cared about you, and not on your own, after realizing that everyone has turned their back on you. Dorothea was trying to get it across as gently as she could. “You might think people are upset with one thing, but then you hear them talking about you with others, saying things they’d never say to your face. Or all of a sudden, they don’t have time for you anymore, or don’t want to talk to you...things like that. And it’s so hard to tell, Petra, that’s what makes it awful—you never know who it might be that’s going to shut you off next. Does that make sense?”

Dorothea was trying to maintain a serious expression, but Petra made the most adorable face when she was confused. It was hard to stay focused. “I...that makes sense. I did not mean to upset Linhardt, and...I do not want him to say things about me when I am not around, or to never talk to me again!”

Dorothea moved forward, putting a hand on Petra’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, don’t worry! That’s just the worst-case scenario, Petra. Chances are, I was just rambling on about nothing again!” Even though she said that, the seeds of doubt were already planted. That wasn’t a _bad_ thing, per se; Petra really did have to start considering the idea that not all of her friends were her real friends. It was important for her to know that there were very few people that she could really count on. “Just exercise some caution, alright? People are very fickle.”

“I was very insistent...no, persistent, with asking Linhardt to help me,” Petra continued, as if Dorothea hadn’t backtracked at all. “Perhaps I did upset him...I hope I am not upsetting you, too, Dorothea, when I ask—”

“Ah-ah-ah! I won’t even let the question leave your lips,” Dorothea scolded. She bent over just a little to look Petra in the eyes head-on. “I told you before, you _never_ have to worry about making me go out of my way. Whenever you need me, Petra, I’ll help you. And if it’s something I don’t know, well, I’ll ask somebody who does. After all, I don’t mind if people get irritated with me for asking things, but you shouldn’t have to take the fall. People are just cruel, Petra, and—” Dorothea caught herself before she went on another tangent. She just straightened up, and gave Petra a smile. Hopefully, Petra understood her...

“If you are sure I will not be bothering you...I will try to rely on you in the future.”

Petra still seemed worried, so Dorothea placed a hand on her head, running a finger along the twist of her braid. “It’ll be okay, Petra. It can be scary, not being sure who has your back—but no matter what, know that Dorothea always does.”

“Yes! Of course.” A smile came over Petra’s face, and Dorothea brushed the back of her knuckle against her cheek. That was good, she was very good; and she was lucky to have someone like Dorothea.

* * *

True to her word, Petra came to Dorothea for everything. Dorothea did have to ask around for a few things, since Petra’s studies were rather broad compared to hers, but Dorothea left no question unanswered and no favor undone. She honestly wished Petra would rely on her even more, but she was independent at that age, too, so she let it slide.

Still, it bothered her that it was impossible to separate Petra from everyone completely. She was much more careful with her interactions, and she’d made a point of no longer bothering Linhardt, but Dorothea still felt worried when she saw Petra talking with someone else. Dorothea had watered down her explanation of the world to Petra, so as not to scare her, but the truth was, people were filthy. They were not born dirty—Dorothea was not born dirty—but were instead infected by others, through words, through actions. Petra had managed to remain pure and sweet, and Dorothea knew it was going to be hard to keep her that way, but she had to try.

She flinched when she saw Petra talking in low voices with Caspar. Her fist clenched when she saw Petra giggling around the foot of a tree with Claude. Her _blood boiled_ when she saw Petra poring over wares in the market with Ashe. After every interaction, Petra would come back to Dorothea, asking questions about shouldering the burdens of previous generations, about climbing trees, about the lives of commoners. 

Dorothea saw an opportunity. An awful opportunity.

What she did with the Linhardt situation was fair—he really didn’t want to be bothered by Petra, and she was trying to make it so that he wasn’t, and that Petra wouldn’t be hurt by his nonchalance. But Claude, Caspar, and Ashe, they really seemed to like Petra. Dorothea couldn’t use that reasoning anymore. 

...But there was something else she could do. Petra saw her as an authority, as someone who had all the answers. If Dorothea told her something that wasn’t right, then...Petra would surely believe her. If Dorothea told her that Caspar was trying to follow in the footsteps of his father, to hurt her, Petra would believe her. If Dorothea told her that Claude was merely trying to befriend her for political gain, Petra would believe her. If Dorothea told her that Ashe was nothing more than a thief who was trying to take advantage of her, Petra would believe her.

Now, as far as Dorothea knew, those things weren’t true, and they were all nice boys. But the fact of the matter was, those things _could’ve_ been true. Dorothea wasn’t paranoid, just cautious—and Petra did not know how to be cautious of others. She just hadn’t honed that skill yet, and Dorothea had to step in on her behalf.

Dorothea mulled it over for a few days, watching as Petra forged bonds with the other students. It wasn’t just Caspar, Claude, and Ashe, either. It was everyone she met. They were drawn to her, drawn to her purity, and they were desperate to take it away. What could Dorothea do, without breaking Petra’s heart?

She didn’t know. But she had to do something. Before it was too late.

* * *

“Petra? Can I tell you something? Something personal?”

Dorothea had sat them down in a dim corner of the dining hall, after the supper crowd had cleared. Petra had brought a book (not her diary, to Dorothea’s disappointment), but she closed it as soon as Dorothea addressed her. “Of course, Dorothea. I will do my best to advise you!”

“Oh, no, I don’t need advice, I...just wanted to get something off of my chest.” Dorothea felt a lump in her throat as she prepared to talk, but swallowed it down. She’d had to say difficult things before, but this one might have been the hardest. She didn’t want to lie to Petra, so she had to find another way to make her understand. “I wanted to tell you a...story, of sorts. But, make no mistake—it’s completely true.”

“A story that is true...?”

Dorothea nodded. “It’s a little depressing, but you’ll realize why it’s important. Now, I don’t talk about this much with others, so please, keep this between us.”

“Of course! I would never repeat your words without your permission!”

“Great. I’m glad to hear that,” Dorothea said. They were sitting on the same side of the table, and Dorothea moved a bit closer, trying to be subtle. “This is a story about something that happened while I was in the opera. I was...your age. About to turn sixteen. It wasn’t all that long ago, of course, and it’s still very fresh in my mind...there was this boy that helped build sets for the opera. You know, the scenery, and whatnot. He was a runaway from a noble family, so he was a bit on the uppity side. But he’d do anything you asked him to, from helping with costumes, to makeup, to fetching food for the actors...he was very sweet to everyone, especially to me. He might have been in love with me, even—but looking back, it’s hard to tell.”

“I am...having trouble with understanding. You said your story was depressing,” Petra said. “This boy sounds very nice.”

“He was,” Dorothea said. As she spoke, she felt nauseous. She felt like she was...being watched. Like she was being preyed upon. She would never wish that feeling upon anyone. “But, you see, Petra, sometimes it’s obvious to others when you’re vulnerable. Good people will protect you. Others will take whatever they want from you, knowing you’re too weak to stop them. This boy...was not one of the good people. He knew I was young, and afraid, and willing to do anything to succeed. And so, he—he forced himself upon me, knowing I wouldn't tell anyone.”

At those words, Petra’s face contorted. Dorothea had never seen an expression like that on Petra’s face, but she hoped it meant that she understood. Instead, Petra asked, “‘Forced himself upon you’...? I don’t...I have never heard that phrase. I apologize.”

“Oh, of course you haven’t, sweet Petra. That was an oversight on my part,” Dorothea said, keeping her voice gentle. She cupped Petra’s cheek, softly bringing a thumb to the mark beneath her eye. “It was something awful, Petra. Something you should never do to another person unless they allow you to. Something you should only do with someone you love.”

Again, Petra’s expression changed, but that time, it was more severe. She must have gotten it. Dorothea was glad she didn't have to say any more. “I-I am sorry,” she said. “Dorothea, that is...that is horrible. I am so sorry, I...I have no words.”

“No, Petra, please. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for,” Dorothea said, bringing her other hand to Petra’s face. Oh, Goddess, she was about to cry, Petra was about to cry. Was she really so troubled by it? “I don’t want to scare you, Petra. And I don’t want you to feel bad for me. I just want you to know that not everyone who smiles at you, who helps you, is a good person. You have to be _careful,_ Petra. That’s all.”

“The academy’s students...all of my friends,” Petra mumbled, averting her eyes. “They—they are good people.”

“I wish I could say so, but...you can’t be too trusting. That’s how you get hurt.”

“No, I...I don’t believe it,” she said, but the tremble in her voice made it seem like she was very close to believing it. “My friends...”

“Don’t panic, Petra. I just want you to be careful. Remember what I said, about people taking advantage of those who were vulnerable? Here, _you_ are vulnerable. Do you understand? You’re unaccustomed to the ways of Fodlan, you’re younger than the other students, and you’re _so, so_ kind, almost to a fault.” _So pure, so clean,_ Dorothea thought, but didn’t say. “Some people perceive that as weakness, and will manipulate you into doing as they say.”

Petra couldn’t meet Dorothea’s eyes, still, and Dorothea was afraid that she’d lost her. Did Petra not believe her? She was speaking from the heart, and nothing she said was untrue. People _were_ cruel, people _would_ take advantage of her given the chance. She wished someone would have told her that—it was unfathomable that Petra would ignore her advice.

And she didn’t.

Petra fell forward into Dorothea’s arms, burying her face in Dorothea’s chest. Dorothea didn’t hesitate; in seconds, her arms were around Petra, cradling her head and holding her close. Dorothea whispered words of comfort to her, trying to brush off the thumping of her heart in her chest. She soon heard sniffles and hitches in Petra’s breath, the faintest warmth from tears. Never mind the wrinkles in her uniform top, or any onlookers in the dining hall. Petra _understood._ It had taken Dorothea divulging one of many painful memories for her to get it, but Petra _understood._

“Dorothea...”

“Yes, Petra? Are you alright?”

“I...I need your promise. That you will not...that you are not—”

“Don’t say another word, Petra. I know. I’ll always protect you. And I will never, _ever_ hurt you. If nobody else, you can always trust me. Got it?”

Petra nodded, still sniffling, and Dorothea rubbed circles on her back over her shirt. Petra wasn’t quite hysterical, but she did seem overwhelmed. As she calmed herself down, Dorothea leaned over and planted a kiss on her warm forehead.

Petra was safe.

* * *

Dorothea thoroughly enjoyed holding Petra like that, but Petra was not so enthusiastic about it. In fact, she felt so apologetic for breaking down that she invited Dorothea to her room for tea and cookies the very next day. Dorothea, of course, accepted, despite not agreeing with Petra’s reasoning.

The moment they sat down, though, Petra looked at the little table she’d set up with a troubled face. “Ah...I forgot the...the small plates.”

“The saucers?”

“Yes! The saucers. I left them in the kitchen,” Petra said, frowning.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Petra. Why, these cookies look so delicious, I don’t think I’ll ever set one down after I’ve picked it up.”

“It is proper etiquette to bring the—the saucers to any tea party.” Petra seemed set on retrieving them, standing from her chair and pushing it in. “I will be back momentarily. I always move with extreme quickness!”

That much was true, at least; Petra was out of the room before Dorothea could even open her mouth to respond. The cookies did look tasty, though, and Dorothea plucked one from the platter. They were still warm, too...

Just as she’d said earlier, Dorothea never needed to set it down. After she took the first bite, it was gone within seconds. Of course, someone like Petra would be good at making sweets. Dorothea laughed at her own joke, and went to pick up another cookie—

And then she saw it.

The diary.

Petra herself had said that nothing too emotional was written in it, but that was before Dorothea had encouraged her to. There was no telling what she wrote in there afterwards. Maybe she’d even mentioned Dorothea herself, or the conversations they’d had. And it was laying right there, on Petra’s desk, wide open—she wasn’t even trying to hide it. If Dorothea just glanced at the page that she had open, then that would hardly constitute an invasion of privacy.

Dorothea dusted her fingers of cookie crumbs, then went over to Petra’s desk, with haste; after all, Petra _was_ fast. Dorothea didn’t even bother to sit at the desk chair, standing and looking down at the paper with excitement. 

_9/1_

_My birthday is coming soon. I received a letter from grandfather with an early gift. It was a pendant with my name engraved._

_Dorothea’s birthday is also coming soon. Today when we have tea, I will try to figure out what she might want. She_ ~~_might be liking_ ~~ _might like perfume or jewelry, I think. I thought about taking her for a picnic but I am not having sureness that she will enjoy it._

Oh, how cute. The fact that Petra even remembered Dorothea’s birthday was heartwarming...but the page didn’t really reveal much. The ink was dry, so Dorothea figured it wouldn’t hurt if she read the page right before it...

_8/31_

_Today had much turbulence. I said something very embarrassing to the professor without meaning to. She corrected me with much kindness, but my cheeks become very hot when I think about it._

Dorothea would have to ask the professor about that. What mistake could Petra have made? Dorothea imagined her saying some sort of innuendo, and...ah. She didn’t quite like that idea. If the professor took it the wrong way, then...

_I’ll just continue reading,_ Dorothea thought.

_But more happened after. I had dinner with Dorothea. After we had eaten she told me about someone she met while in the opera. It_ ~~_brings me much sadness_ ~~ _makes me sad to even write that he hurt her. She told me to be careful, as people are not always kind. I was scared, but also so thankful that she told me that I began to cry, and she held me with tight arms._

_I invited her to tea tomorrow to make up for my shameful display, but I am still feeling guilty. She was very soft and smelled like the sweet flowers from the greenhouse, so I was not wanting to let go. I hope she isn’t upset with me. When she told me she would protect me and would never be a bad person, I only cried harder, but out of joy instead._

Dorothea almost felt like she was going to faint. To read that Petra enjoyed embracing her, liked her scent, the feel of her body...it was irreplaceable. One more page, she decided. She just had to read one more page—Petra might have been on her way back.

_8/30_

_I had a nightmare about the angry face of the ocean. I woke up breathing very hard, thinking I was drowning. I think I would feel better if I returned home to swim again._

_Since I woke up early I trained more. I practiced my spearwork. I was wishing I could have had Linhardt’s help, but I did not want to bother him, so I did it on my own. I am getting much better._

_I finished reading the book Bernadetta lent me. She said they did not keep those kinds of books in the library so it was very special to her. I made sure to finish it quickly and keep it in good condition so she would not be upset. It was a very strange book. I did not understand a lot of the words, but the words I did understand made me think the book was for adults. Bernadetta seemed very shy when she gave it to me and when she took it back, so maybe she did not get it either, but did not want to say so. I didn’t want to ask Bernadetta, but asking Dorothea is too embarrassing. I hope she will forgive me for not asking for her advice._

Petra continued to talk about her day, and it was all very cute, very sweet, but Dorothea was still stuck on that one paragraph. A strange book for adults? One that wasn’t kept in the library? One that Petra had gotten from _Bernadetta,_ the notorious romance-novel hoarder? 

Dorothea was very interested.

At the very least, Petra knew better than to ask anyone else. Dorothea wasn’t sure what she’d say when the topic had been breached, wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she knew that she didn’t want Petra discussing whatever was in the book with other people. Dorothea herself was hesitant; if the book contained sexual themes like she thought it did, wouldn’t she be the one tainting her beloved Petra?

Dorothea went back to her seat, sliding into it and pouring herself a cup of tea. She couldn’t think, if she thought too much she’d drive herself crazy. She just had to...go for it. And let the conversation go wherever it went.

Petra rushed back in only a few seconds after Dorothea had taken a sip of tea, holding three saucers. She set two down, then put the spare one aside. Always so well-prepared. “I apologize...for my lateness,” Petra said, sitting down. Dorothea poured her a cup of tea as well, and Petra thanked her, breathless.

“You really didn’t have to run. I’ve got nowhere to be!”

“But your time is precious, all the same! Every second I spent away was a waste of our time together, Dorothea.” 

Dorothea wanted to melt, but—she had to focus. She had to bring up the book. Subtly, of course. “Petra, my dear, I’ve been looking for new books to read. I know you read a lot to study Fodlan’s language—do you have any recommendations?”

No reaction yet. Instead, Petra happily said, “Ashe told me that ‘Loog and the Maiden of Wind’ is very capable of jerking your tears!”

“Ah, you mean it’s a—well, never mind. That’s great, but I’ve already read that one,” Dorothea said, feigning sadness. She didn’t even mind lying. There was no way Petra would question her about it. “In fact, I’ve read every book in the library from top to bottom. I was looking for...something that the librarians here might not find acceptable. Something a little more...mature, perhaps?”

That did it. Petra set her teacup down with a clatter, her eyes going wide. Dorothea kept her face straight, but tilted her head with a question in her eyes. “I...am not sure I know of anything like that...m-maybe you should ask Bernadetta?”

“Bernadetta, hm? I see. Have you read anything that she’s recommended? Just so I have an idea of what to ask her for.”

“Um...” Petra fretted for a bit, and Dorothea let her. Saying something would interrupt the building tension. After a full minute or so, Petra finally slouched over in her chair a bit, frowning. “Dorothea? I must apologize for something.”

“Oh? For what?”

“You told me to come to you for anything I needed, or for any questions, but...I had a question that I did not ask you. I am very, very sorry!”

The thrill that Dorothea felt when Petra apologized to her for what was virtually nothing...that was normal, right? “That’s okay, sweetie. I’m sure you had a good reason, though, right? Why didn’t you want to ask me?”

“It was—about a book. That Bernadetta gave me. It was...mature, like you said. And I didn’t understand some things.”

Goddess, it was too easy. Dorothea had feared that Petra wouldn’t bring it up on her own, but she _did._ Dorothea tried to stay calm, tried not to jump out of her chair at the idea of discussing sex with Petra. She had to remind herself, too: she wasn’t doing anything wrong. At the very least, she’d be educating her. “If you remember a few things that confused you, you can still ask me now. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. As long as you’re only talking about it with me, that’s okay.”

Petra sighed in relief, straightening up again. “I-I thought so! I wanted to question Bernadetta about it, but then I thought about it, like you said—I might have been a bother to her. So I did not ask anyone else!”

“Very good, Petra,” Dorothea said, quickly. “Now, what did you want to ask?”

“Well, I...was confused by...I am sorry. It is very hard to put it into words,” Petra said, taking a sip of tea between sentences. It felt like the longest pause, but when she started talking again, Dorothea was still tuned in. “The people in the book...kissed very strangely.”

“Kissed...strangely?”

“Yes.” Dorothea could see the gears turning behind Petra’s head as she tried to express herself. “It sounded very...messy. The book kept talking about their tongues touching one another. Is that a Fodlan custom?"

Dorothea was _giddy._ Petra didn’t even know about anything more than a peck on the lips. It was amazing, it was exciting, it was new land waiting to be traversed. The question wasn't as explicit as she first expected, but that was fine. “It isn’t a Fodlan thing, no. People do that everywhere. It’s not something that you often _see,_ though, unless you’re a participant. But, yes, people do kiss with their tongues. It’s very normal.”

“I have heard about kissing with the lips, but never with a tongue. Isn’t that strange?”

“When you think about it, yes, maybe a little,” Dorothea laughed. “But it feels good. That being said, it isn’t something you can do with just anyone. Only with—” _Only with a lover,_ Dorothea almost said, but...something made her stop. She had to be careful. “Only with someone you can trust. After all, your first kiss is important.”

“But I have already kissed someone...like my grandfather, and—”

“No, no, not like that. It’s different, when you kiss someone like they did in the book. That’s your first kiss, when it’s like that,” Dorothea said. She was right there. She could...she could do it. Petra would let her. But could she?

“Someone I can trust...” Petra looked as if she were going to pick up a cookie, but realized something and stopped. “But, Dorothea, I am only trusting you. Does that mean you should be doing my first kiss with me?”

Ah, that wasn’t fair. If Petra brought it up on her own, then...it wasn’t Dorothea’s fault, right? And besides, Dorothea could remember her own first kiss all too well: sloppy, filthy, rough. Her mouth was closed until it was forced open by large, hairy hands, and then she tasted whiskey...no, first kisses weren’t supposed to be like that. And the thought of someone _dirty_ taking it from Petra...

“If that’s what you want,” Dorothea said. Then, she inhaled, gripping the rim of the table. “But, Petra, you have to promise me something. If I kiss you, you can’t do it with anybody else. Do you know why?”

“Because...because someone else might not be a good person,” Petra said, slowly, as if unsure.

But she’d gotten the answer right. Just right. She was such a good listener. Dorothea couldn’t believe it. Whatever she said, Petra took it to heart, just like magic. “That’s right. If anybody else asks you, you have to tell them no. This is just with me. Nobody else.”

“O-okay. It seems very difficult, anyway...I do not want to burden anyone else with teaching me, either.”

“And you’re surely not burdening me. All the more reason for Thea to teach you.” Dorothea looked at Petra’s smile and bit her lip. She hadn’t expected things to go that far when she entered the room that day, and she tried to convince herself that she’d never even considered it at all, but that wasn’t true. No matter how hard she’d tried to fight it off, she wanted to touch Petra, to show her so many things... “Let’s sit on your bed, Petra. It’ll be hard to do this with the table between us.”

“Ah, of course! I was not even thinking about that,” Petra said. She finished her tea, while Dorothea left her cup nearly full, and they both moved to sit on the edge of Petra’s bed. Dorothea brushed a stray hair out of her face, likely displaced from all of her running to the kitchen and back. “I am a little nervous, Dorothea. It is like there are butterflies in my stomach.”

“No need to be nervous. We can start simple, if you’d like. Show me what you know about kissing,” Dorothea said. Petra shifted around a bit, and Dorothea added, “Would you like me to close my eyes?”

Petra nodded, and Dorothea did as she promised, although she would have liked to see Petra’s worried face a few seconds longer. “You have my thanks, Dorothea. Okay. I am...about to demonstrate!”

Dorothea nodded, forcing herself not to giggle. Petra put a hand on her shoulder, with a grip that might have been a smidge too tight. Dorothea felt her leaning in, heard her heavy breaths getting closer...

And then a light smack on her lips.

It was nice, of course, but Dorothea had been wanting a little more. Then again, it was already obvious that Petra knew nothing about making out. “That was good,” Dorothea said, opening her eyes.

“That was nothing like what was written in Bernadetta’s book,” Petra pointed out. “I did not want to do something wrong, so I...”

“No, that was good, Petra, I mean it,” Dorothea repeated. “You have very soft lips. It was nice. But like you said, what they did in the book was different. You’ll have to open your mouth a bit. It’s easy to get the hang of it after a little while, but I’ll take the lead for this first one, okay?”

Dorothea was trying not to speak too quickly, or else she’d show her excitement. It was a teaching moment, that was all. But she was so _happy,_ knowing that no matter what, no matter who might have come after her, Petra would always think of her and that moment when she was kissed.

There was a bit of haste in Dorothea’s movements, as if someone would come right then and there to take Petra away from her. She took Petra’s face in her hands, just like she did in the cafeteria that day. At that time, she had never considered getting that far, never considered taking Petra’s first kiss. 

But there she was, leaning into Petra, tilting her head to slot their lips together. Petra didn’t move, at first, but she jumped in place when Dorothea pressed her tongue against the part in her lips. Dorothea was a bit eager, and she nearly pulled back to (gently, gently) instruct Petra to open her mouth, but Petra did it on her own.

Petra gripped Dorothea’s shoulder again, with her hand loosening as Dorothea explored her mouth. She tasted like sweet-apple tea and cookie frosting, the perfect taste for someone like her. Petra was passive, only tentatively moving her tongue across Dorothea’s. That was fine by Dorothea, after so many people forcing her to move as they wanted. It felt good to be in control for once, she had to admit it. Petra was objectively a bad kisser, inexperienced and nearly still in Dorothea’s arms, but Dorothea was turned on just knowing that Petra was hers, that this was something nobody had ever done. 

It was Petra who pulled away, and Dorothea suppressed the brief spark of annoyance that flared in her. “D-Dorothea,” Petra said, bringing a hand to her lips.

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“I...I am not sure. That was...”

“It felt good, right?”

“I-I think so,” Petra said. Dorothea briefly wondered if she’d been too forceful, moved too fast, but—no, that couldn’t be. Petra had asked her to.

“Would you like to do it again? You’ll get better at it as we go along.”

“If that is the best way to improve, then...”

“You’re already very good at it,” Dorothea praised. “You’re doing great, Petra. But just remember, you can’t do this with anyone else, okay? Just me. Only me.”

Petra nodded eagerly. “I understand.”

“Good. Good girl...”

* * *

It was fine, what they were doing. Dorothea had barely touched her. Petra was still good, she was still sweet, still innocent. It was _hard_ for Dorothea to keep her hands off of Petra, after kissing her for what felt like hours on end, but she restrained herself.

Instead, she indulged her other desires. The desire to have Petra by her side, every second of every day. She told Petra to sit next to her in all of their lectures, and they always took their meals together. They took their baths one after another, and Dorothea made sure that they went in when nobody else was there, lest someone else lay eyes on Petra’s naked body. Dorothea would watch her train, and they would go on strolls together. Some nights, if Dorothea felt like the mood was right, she’d convince Petra to kiss her more.

They were only alone for two reasons: to meet with the professor, and to go to sleep. The first was unavoidable. Dorothea was trying not to involve others in what she was doing with Petra, trying not to let them know—it’s not that she was doing anything _wrong,_ it was just none of their business—so asking the professor not to have one-on-ones with Petra was impossible.

But, sleeping...Dorothea could have a hand in that.

The very idea was intoxicating to her the second she thought of it. As soon as the idea came into her head to sleep in the same bed as Petra, sleeping alone wasn’t good enough. She’d sit in Petra’s room as they studied and stare at her bed, wondering what she had to do to get into it. She might have killed to do so, to have Petra wrapped in her arms, snoring softly, perhaps even dreaming as she slept so that Dorothea could watch her face shift...

Dorothea had to consider her approach for a bit. She had learned a little bit about what made Petra tick, with what had been successful before. Petra was, beneath her confident exterior, somewhat naive. Beyond that, though, she also cared very much for her friends.

And by that point, she really didn’t have many friends, besides Dorothea. 

(Which was a miracle. Dorothea hadn’t expected things to go so well—who knew that it would be so easy to get everyone in the monastery to leave Petra alone? She was almost offended by how quickly their classmates began to stray away from Petra, because Petra was too precious to be easily disregarded, but she was grateful in the end.)

It didn’t take much brainstorming before she devised a new plan.

* * *

“Petra, do you ever have nightmares?”

“Nightmares? Perhaps I have them once or twice every moon. Not too long ago, I had this strange nightmare about the ocean...” Petra briefly recounted it, as Dorothea attempted to look surprised. After she finished, she said, “What about you, Dorothea?”

She was proud of herself for getting to know Petra so well; she had predicted that, upon raising the question, Petra would ask it right back. “Oh, not usually,” Dorothea said. Then, she sighed, woefully. “But lately, it’s been pretty bad.”

“You are having them?”

“Almost every night, really.”

“Oh, no. Why are...what are they showing you?”

Dorothea had anticipated that question, too. She wasn’t lying when she said she had nightmares, but telling Petra what they consisted of...she wasn’t ready for that. Petra didn’t need to know that. Instead, she went with something a little less personal. “I keep thinking about the Gautier boy. Watching him turn into a beast like that, it...it really struck something in me. Oh, and poor Sylvain—but that’s not what the dreams are about. It’s about that damned lance.”

“The Lance of Ruin...if I am understanding the word ‘ruin’, that weapon was very properly named.” Petra’s face fell, contemplative almost. “Sylvain is looking better, it seems.”

_Have you spoken to him?_ Dorothea nearly asked that, but she didn’t. Petra was a good girl, and Dorothea had made it rather clear that she wasn’t to get too friendly with others. “Right, right. I’m glad,” Dorothea said, hurrying the conversation along. “But I can’t stop thinking about Miklan. It’s getting hard to sleep, especially when I’m alone...”

This time, Petra was not picking up on what Dorothea wanted. “That sounds very awful, Dorothea. Perhaps you should try drinking tea before sleep. It is very warm, and relaxes you.” 

She was as sweet and resourceful as ever, but Dorothea needed a little more than that. “I’ve tried, but it just won’t work. I think I really just...need someone to be with me. I was wondering if you could, maybe, sleep in my room tonight?” Wait, no, she’d fumbled—Petra’s bed. Petra’s blankets, Petra’s sheets, covered in her scent...that was the ideal. “Or I could sleep in yours. That might be better. Yes, my room is so very lonely, but yours...”

“Ah! Is this a sleeping over?”

“A-a sleepover? Yes! Just like that!”

“That sounds very fun,” Petra said, nearly bouncing on her feet. “I can get spare pillows and blankets from a storage room. With that, the floor will be more comfortable—”

Oh. Oh, no. “The floor? My, Petra, the floor is so hard. No amount of pillows and blankets will make _that_ comfortable! It’s awful for your back, too.”

“Should I...be sleeping in the chair?”

Dorothea chuckled, a bit breathless. This was the first time she’d had to actually work to get Petra to do what she wanted to do. It would all turn out alright in the end, she was sure, but her impatience was on its way to getting the better of her. “No, Petra. We’ll sleep in the same bed! It’ll be fine.” Petra’s brow dipped, like she was on her way to arguing, and Dorothea stepped in before she could. “That would make me feel a lot better, Petra. I just—I need someone to hold on to, you know? Being able to be near you, and hold you for a bit, that would work wonders for me. I just know it would.”

“I-I apologize, Dorothea. I am not used to such things. In Brigid, children do not even sleep with their parents once they no longer sleep in cribs,” Petra explained. “Sleeping with someone else is...”

“It’s completely normal here, though, Petra. It’ll be relaxing—trust me!” Why was Petra fighting her so hard on this? Dorothea thought that after getting to kiss her, everything else would be a breeze. But Petra wasn’t making it so. Dorothea felt something ugly bubble up inside of her, something that wasn’t even _like_ her. It felt like someone else was speaking. “Come on, Petra. Just this one favor. I’d never ask you to repay me for anything I’ve done for you, but...it’s just this one thing. Can you just do this one little thing? For me?”

Dorothea had to say a little more than she originally intended to, and had to go a bit “off-script”, but it was well worth it. Petra seemed to get less and less sure of her decision as Dorothea spoke, until the point where she was clearly worn down. Still, she smiled. Of course she would. Why wouldn’t she? “You are right, Dorothea. You have been helping me every day since we met. I hope this will be enough to...start repaying you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. This is more than enough,” Dorothea said, her voice spaced-out and dreamy. “Like I said, it’ll be fun. We can have a few pastries before bed, and—oh! I could do your makeup! I’ll even help you take out your braids. I can’t wait!”

Petra was so easily swayed by Dorothea’s words. Really, she was such a good listener. Already, her hesitation was gone, replaced with eagerness. “That does sound very fun. We should fetch pastries before the kitchen is closing, though...”

And so smart, too. What would Dorothea do without her?

* * *

In truth, Dorothea only had one thing in mind when she asked to spend the night in Petra’s room: getting into that bed with her. But Petra was more excited to do the other things Dorothea had described, which turned out to be just as pleasant. Petra was shy about makeup, smacking her lips again and again when Dorothea applied lipstick to them. After she wiped it off (“you look beautiful even without it,” Dorothea had assured her), Dorothea fed her pastries, making sure to brush her thumb against Petra’s lip whenever she could.

It was all so very innocent. Settling behind Petra and undoing her braids to let her hair fall around her shoulders, it was so _innocent,_ so natural. Petra chattered on as Dorothea ran her fingers through her hair, much longer than was necessary, and Dorothea tried to keep up with her. After a little while, she seemed to be tuckered out, though, and Dorothea figured it was time to lay down.

“Petra? Are you feeling tired?”

“Tired? Not very,” Petra said, but she yawned almost immediately after. The humor did not escape her, and they laughed together. Dorothea was still impatient, but she was close—very close—to getting what she wanted, and the sheer happiness that that brought her was enough to calm her down. “On second thought, I might be a little tired.”

“We can put the lamp out, then, and get into bed. You don’t have to fall asleep right away; we can just wind down,” Dorothea said, with not a hint of question in her voice. They had been sitting on the floor, and when Dorothea rose to put out the lamp, Petra got into the bed, leaving the blankets untucked so that Dorothea could slide in.

Dorothea had imagined the moment so often that, once the light was out, she still found her way to Petra’s bed with ease. The warmth hit her as soon as she got in; the warmth coming from the sheets, the blankets, and, oh _Goddess,_ Petra’s skin. Petra snuggled up against her, the only way they could fit in the bed together, and Dorothea felt faint.

What a scent, as well. Petra smelled outdoorsy, after spending so much time among trees and wilderness, but it wasn’t a harsh or “masculine” scent; she smelled more like a field of flowers on a sunny day, and was just as warm as one, too. Dorothea had caught whiffs of it as they kissed or stood near one another, but that was nothing compared to being in the bed that Petra slept in every night, and being able to bury her face in Petra’s hair as she pleased...it was all hers. Nobody had been that personal with Petra, besides her family, perhaps, but Dorothea could deal with them later...

“Ah—Dorothea? You are...holding me very tightly...”

“Oh!” Dorothea loosened the grip on Petra that she hadn’t even realized was there. She had been clutching Petra’s back rather inconsiderately. Petra made a noise that sounded like one of thanks, but Dorothea still felt she had to explain herself. “Sorry, Petra. I just get...anxious, when it’s time for bed. I can’t stop thinking about...how bad it gets when I fall asleep. So I just squeeze whatever’s nearby...”

“I-I see...in that case, Dorothea, you may squeeze me as hard as you’d like! Even if it is a bit paining, I will endure it,” Petra said.

Dorothea giggled, carding her fingers through Petra’s hair again. She hadn’t seen it down for too long, but she knew it was beautiful, falling in thick, silky ringlets around Petra’s face. “No, no need for that. Just like this is fine.” Petra didn’t respond after that pause, which gave Dorothea...an opening. “I feel relaxed already. Honestly, I would be over the moon if we could do this every night!”

The statement was meant to be an invitation. A playful invitation, but an invitation nonetheless. Whether it was the language barrier or a genuine difficulty in spotting undertones to those kinds of things, Petra laughed, her breath tickling Dorothea’s chest (it might have been a mistake to wear a gown with a dip that low). “Dorothea would surely be tiring of sleeping beside me after less than one moon.”

“Nonsense! You’re an excellent cuddler, Petra. Besides, you just have this calming presence—like you’ve got it all together.”

“But...was it not Dorothea who helped me...get it all together?”

Dorothea always felt so _excited_ when Petra spoke like that, like she was indebted to Dorothea forever. After all, that line of thinking is what got her in Petra’s bed in the first place. Now, how did Dorothea reinforce that while still allowing Petra some confidence? “Oh, sure it was! I’m glad you took all of my advice to heart. But this is about more than that. Sort of how...I talked about people wanting to take your spirit away from you, your purity. That _spirit_ and _purity_ is what makes you so important to me, Petra. Being near you brings me peace.”

Petra laughed to herself, a bit smugly; Dorothea couldn’t see her face, but it sounded like she was pleased by the praise. “Thank you, Dorothea. I will bring you more peace, until you are overflowing with peace!”

A noble goal, fully accomplishable by her Petra. But...she could sleep on it. Dorothea wanted to have just a few minutes... “I know you will, sweetheart. But you have to get some rest to do that, right? Are you ready to go to sleep?”

“Mm...yes...I believe so. Dorothea, you have a very calming presence as well. I usually never tire so quickly, but in your arms, I feel...very drowsy.”

Again, her exhaustion was showing in her voice. Her use of Fodlan’s language, grammatically, was on par with her normal performance; however, her pronunciation seemed to be more in-line with what Petra had said in Brigidian. Either way, her voice was beautiful, and Dorothea remained silent in the hopes of hearing it again. 

A few moments later, she regretted it; Petra had fallen asleep, and Dorothea hadn’t even said good night. She did not snore, but Dorothea heard a whisper of breath as she relaxed into her sleep. Dorothea considered getting up again, relighting the lamp so she could see Petra’s sleeping face, but Petra surely would have woken up.

Dorothea waited a bit, making sure that Petra was asleep. She wanted to give into her instincts, her desires, but in order to do that, she had to make sure Petra would not notice; that was the only way to satisfy herself while still keeping Petra pure. 

Dorothea counted sheep in her head, recited opera lyrics, anything to make the time pass. She wasn’t sure how long she had waited before she finally decided to move the hand that rested on Petra’s back, sliding it a little lower. Petra didn’t move at all, breathing in and out, nice and easy, just as she had been doing before. Dorothea easily found the curve of her ass—she had forced herself not to stare before, so this was her first time getting properly acquainted with it. It was round, yet muscled from all of the exercise she did. Dorothea cupped it, her heart racing faster as she did.

She shifted just enough to press her lips against Petra’s forehead, resting them there. They were face-to-face, and getting access to her chest would be hard, so Dorothea instead moved her hand to Petra’s thighs. She rubbed her there, too, careful not to disturb her by being too aggressive.

“Oh, Petra. So beautiful,” Dorothea whispered. “Lovely girl...”

It was only after she spoke that she wondered if she’d made a mistake, but Petra still didn’t move. Dorothea didn’t talk any more, though, running her fingers along Petra’s skin and wishing she could see it.

From there, Dorothea considered her choices. Petra seemed to be resting well, not stirring as Dorothea spoke or touched her. There was, of course, a limit to the things that she could get away with, but her mind began to race thinking of what she could do. Most of all, she was thinking about touching herself, releasing the desire within her while Petra laid next to her. It had pained her the first few times, to get off to the thought of Petra, but after so many nights of convincing herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she wanted more.

Could she pull it off? If she put her hand between them, circled her finger around her clit, kept her voice low...she could do it. Petra would be none the wiser—if anything, Dorothea could pass it off as a dream. Her lips parted as she got more excited, thinking of how lovely it would be to lay a hand on Petra as she touched herself—

“Mm...”

Dorothea stayed still, very still, as Petra languidly moved next to her. As Petra shifted, she pulled her hand back, slow and subtle. Petra settled within two or three heavy beats of Dorothea’s heart, leaving Dorothea anxious, horny, and unsure what to do with herself.

At the very least, the brief scare had cleared her head. Perhaps it was a sign, Petra stirring right then. It was a sign that...no, it wasn’t a sign that Dorothea had done something wrong, or was going to. She hadn’t, and she wasn’t. It was a sign that the timing wasn’t right. And that was fine—Dorothea had already been patient for so long, that waiting a little longer wouldn’t mean a thing.

* * *

Sleeping with Petra every night wasn’t an easy task—and Dorothea might have lessened her credibility a smidge by looking confused when Petra asked her in the morning if her nightmares had subsided—but at the very least, Dorothea had managed to convince Petra to sleep with her a few times out of the week. Every night was just as sweet as the first, with plenty of warm, hushed conversations and good-night kisses. But every night, Dorothea also struggled with her urges, and found herself craving the opportunity for relief that the nights in her own room brought her. After she was finished, though, she’d be thinking about Petra again...

Dorothea couldn’t make a move. Touching herself in bed with Petra, even if she hadn’t gotten caught...that would have muddied Petra’s purity, surely it would have. That was where Dorothea drew the line. So she’d lay in bed with Petra, stifling her own desires until the sun rose.

Petra often woke up first, and she’d be reading or writing until Dorothea woke up behind her. It felt so domestic, to wake up to Petra’s hair, loose around her face, and the smile on her face after she said “good morning”.

So, Dorothea was understandably upset when, one morning, she woke up in Petra’s bed alone.

The room was eerily still, and the space next to her had not the slightest hint of warmth. Dorothea shot up, putting a hand to her head when her vision went dark for a second. Once she’d balanced herself out, she looked around the room, wondering if Petra was just quiet. No, she was alone. And Petra was gone. 

Dorothea got out of the bed, changing into the uniform that she’d left folded on Petra’s desk and quickly fixing up her hair. She wasn’t paying much mind to her appearance, though; within five minutes, she was out of Petra’s door, rushing to find her—

And bumped right into Petra on her way out.

She first felt relief, then irritation, then a sudden wave of calm, then circled right back to being relieved. She put her hands on Petra’s face, caressing her. “Petra! Where did you go, dear?”

“I am sorry, Dorothea. I left very quietly, so you could rest,” Petra said. “Caspar came to talk to me.”

Dorothea went cold. “Caspar...? What did he want to talk about?”

“Ah, it is...maybe it is something I should leave you out of, Dorothea...”

“Nonsense! You can always tell me anything, Petra. Here,” Dorothea said, ushering Petra back into her room. She sat on the bed, and Petra sat down next to her, quite naturally. “What is it that he wanted to talk to you about?”

“More about my father...and his,” Petra admitted. Dorothea felt something ugly inside of her again, something she didn’t like feeling. Caspar was a nice boy, she knew that—but she also knew how quickly noble quarrels and grudges could spiral out of control. “He was apologizing very much...”

“Really? Where was this?”

Petra cocked her head. “Where...?”

“Wh-where did he take you, I mean, to talk?”

“Ah! We went to his quarters.”

_No. No. It can’t be._ “That’s all, then? He just apologized, and you came back here?”

“He told me to let him know if I was needing anything,” Petra said, but—that wasn’t all. Dorothea could tell. Dorothea didn’t say anything else, just waited for Petra to continue. Petra fretted over herself for a few moments, then added, “He looked very sad, so I gave him a hug. Then I came back.”

“A...a hug?” Petra nodded. There was something sheepish about her, something shy. Like she knew what was wrong. What she had _done_ wrong. Dorothea took a deep breath before she continued. “Petra. Don’t you remember what we talked about? About people that you can’t trust, about bad people?”

“I do,” Petra began, “but Caspar...Caspar is very good peo—he is a very good person! I can trust him. About what his father did, he is feeling very guilty, and I—”

“No, _no,_ Petra, you’re not getting it—people play at your emotions, just like that, and you’re letting it work,” Dorothea said. She was trying so _hard_ not to raise her voice, but it felt like Petra wasn’t even listening. Dorothea would have killed to have someone like her, someone who had already been through it all and was willing to teach others how not to follow in the same footsteps. Petra was lucky enough to have that in Dorothea, and she wasn’t even listening? “Of course he wants you to think that he feels guilty. But you have no way of knowing that that’s the truth. He could be saying anything, just to get you to let your guard down.”

Dorothea was hoping that that would be the end of it, but Petra was resilient. Goddess, what had Caspar said to her to make her so fucking _brainwashed?_ “That is having truth. I can never really know what he is thinking. But in my heart, I know that he would never hurt me.”

Dorothea bit her tongue, stopping just short of making herself bleed. Petra wasn’t listening. Dorothea had said all that she could. Whatever Caspar had said to her, whatever idea Petra had gotten in her mind about him...it was beyond repair.

“I see,” Dorothea said. Petra seemed to relax once Dorothea did. In truth, Dorothea was anything but relaxed. She was _afraid._ Afraid of what this boy could do to Petra. He may have been a second son, but in the end, he had more power in Fodlan than Petra would ever have. It would have been so _easy_ for him to force her. Still, Dorothea tried to keep the fear out of her voice. She couldn’t let Petra panic. “If you’ve made up your mind, then I guess I’ll have to trust your judgement. I may have been wrong, y’know.”

“I-I am not saying that you are wrong! You are very smart, Dorothea,” Petra insisted. “And you...know so much more about...people than I do. But I am trusting in Caspar, as well.”

_Trust. Trust, trust, trust._ She threw that word around so easily—Caspar must have coerced her into valuing it so little. “I get it, sweetheart. I’m glad you have someone you can trust. Just be careful, okay?”

“Thank you, Dorothea,” Petra said. She took both of Dorothea’s hands in hers, smiling brightly. She seemed relieved that Dorothea had dropped the subject.

“No need to thank me. Although, if you absolutely must, would you mind doing it with a kiss?”

“This sort of kiss is used for many things...’good night’s, ‘good morning’s—’thank you’s, too?”

Dorothea laughed. Despite Petra’s awe, she delivered the kiss rather quickly. Dorothea had panicked for nothing. Petra wasn’t completely lost, yet. Dorothea had been gullible, sometimes, when she was younger. Trusting the wrong people, letting them take advantage of her while expecting something in return. And yet, despite being hurt, there was nothing she could have been told to change her mind.

Instead, she just needed to be protected.


	2. Chapter 2

Another day, another dreadful meeting with the professor. It was solely for praise, which Dorothea enjoyed, but she enjoyed it much more when it was received in Petra’s presence, or even better, from Petra herself. For the entirety of the meeting, Dorothea was spaced out, nodding and laughing when appropriate while thinking solely of Petra. What were they going to do afterwards...? Perhaps they’d find a book in the library to cuddle up to. Petra loved to read to Dorothea, to improve her fluency; Dorothea loved hearing her voice.

“...about it for now. Just keep following my lectures, and we should be able to have another certification for you within the next moon or so.”

Dorothea’s eyebrows lifted when her mind registered the fact that the meeting was over. “Well, alright, Professor! Thank you so much for your time.”

“No worries at all, Dorothea. You’re doing great.”

As if the professor’s opinion meant anything to her. She was too judgemental, anyway—something Dorothea was sick of experiencing. Her mind drifted back to more pleasant thoughts as she walked away, such as Petra, and what they were going to do that day. A book would be nice, Dorothea thought.

She made her way to Petra’s room, where Petra would surely be waiting for her. But just as she was approaching, she saw someone, waiting outside of her own bedroom.

Caspar.

He startled when he saw her approach, but didn’t seem afraid. Instead, he seemed nervous. If he knew what was good for him, he’d make whatever he wanted quick—Dorothea had a short temper that day. “Dorothea! I was looking for you. Figured you’d come back here eventually.”

“Well, yes, it _is_ my room,” Dorothea said. “What do you need, Caspar? I have an appointment to keep, mind you.”

“With Petra? Yeah, um...I kinda made up an excuse to get her to go to the market,” Caspar admitted. Dorothea’s fuse was only getting shorter. “I needed to talk to you alone.”

Oh, what could it possibly be? What could he want from her? Knowing him, it was bound to be something silly. “So long as you make it quick...”

“Can we go into your room? I, uh...kinda need some privacy,” he said.

Dorothea nearly wanted to roll her eyes. He’d been in her room before, to help her clean—she hadn’t meant to make him feel so familiar. Arguing would only take longer, though, so she opened the door and let him in, and closed it behind them. “Alright,” Dorothea said, not even bothering to sit. Caspar did, though, clutching the underside of her desk chair. “What’s on your mind?”

“So, it’s...about Petra. But you might’ve guessed that.”

No. Dorothea _hadn’t_ guessed that. Why would she guess that? “What about Petra?”

“It’s just that, um...look, you’re the only person I can think of to ask about this. You’re close with her, yeah?”

“The closest,” she said, perhaps a little more upbeat than she’d intended.

“That’s good. ‘Cause, y’know...I want to get closer to her, too. That’s the only way I can word it. We’ve been talking a lot about—”

Dorothea laughed despite her efforts to keep her composure. A short, barking laugh. There was no way Caspar intended to try his hand at _Petra._ It was ridiculous, it was—it was exactly what Dorothea had predicted, but even more of a farce when it was right in front of her. “Caspar. You can’t possibly mean to tell me that you _like_ Petra?”

Caspar’s face lit up red, almost instantly. “Y-yeah, I do! That’s why I’m...asking you. What I should do. You know her really well, so I figured you’d be able to tell me how I should ask her out, or at least get her to look at me that way...”

“Here’s an idea: cut your losses,” Dorothea said, another laugh bubbling up in her chest. She couldn’t even be angry. It was ridiculous. A joke. Still, Caspar was someone she considered an ally, perhaps a friend. She didn’t appreciate what he was trying to do, and she was just as wary of him as everyone else, but she couldn’t help feeling a little guilty when she saw the frustration in his face. “Look, Caspar. I’m glad you and Petra have settled whatever familial burdens you shouldered, and whatnot—that’s great. Petra seems really happy about it, too, it’s great! But I think you should leave it there. Petra’s definitely not interested in you like that, and I’d hate to see you get hurt, or ruin your friendship with her.”

Caspar wasn’t like Petra, though; he wasn’t easy to convince. That alone told Dorothea about his motives, really. There was a certain innocence in gullibility, naivety, and Caspar was clearly lacking it. It did more than show his character—it pissed Dorothea off. “No, it’s not like that. Really, I think she’s into me. I think we just need some kind of push, to bring it all together. Even if I’m wrong and she doesn’t like me...come on, Dorothea. Petra isn’t the kind of person that’d stop being friends with me just ‘cause I said I liked her.”

“But she is, Caspar. You came to me because I know her the best, right? You came to me for advice? Well, I’m telling it to you straight. You’re going to get your heart broken. And, if I’m being brutally honest, if she does say yes, it might be just because she’s too sweet to say no—and you know I’m right.”

“Jeez, Dorothea! Aren’t you being a little mean?” Caspar only seemed mildly annoyed by Dorothea’s words. That wasn’t enough for her. She needed him to _realize_ what he was getting into, and he was still treating their conversation like friendly banter. “I know you’re protective over Petra, and all, but you don’t have to put me through the wringer.”

“You’re missing the point, Caspar. It’s not about what I want, or what I think, or what you want, or what you think—it’s about Petra, right? You said it yourself. And I’m telling you right now, confessing to Petra is a mistake.”

Again, Dorothea got the feeling that Caspar wasn’t taking her seriously. He stood up from her chair, rolling his eyes. “You’re seriously overreacting. Your knack for teasing me is getting out of control...”

“I’m not teasing. I’m merely telling you how it is,” Dorothea said. Calm, calm, she had to stay calm, despite it being so fucking _hard_ when Caspar seemed to be ignoring any attempts by Dorothea to keep Petra safe.

“Whatever, I’ll figure it out on my own. I’ll probably get her some flowers, or something,” Caspar said. “Thanks for all your help...”

“I already gave you my opinion, Caspar. If you choose not to listen, then just be ready to face the consequences,” Dorothea said. She tried to sound confident, to sound sure of herself, but she was becoming less and less sure for every second she looked at Caspar. Dorothea was always with Petra, she knew her better than anyone. So, how could Caspar be so confident that Petra liked him back, when Dorothea was the one who...

No. It was impossible. Dorothea _did_ know Petra the best, and she knew that Petra would trust her. Petra hardly knew anything about relationships, anyway, aside from what Dorothea had taught her, and she probably would turn Caspar down solely because of that.

Dorothea calmed herself down a bit, straightening up as Caspar opened the door and left out. “I really think you’ve got it all wrong,” Caspar said, as Dorothea exited behind him.

“I already spoke my piece,” Dorothea said. “Like I said, I have to go meet Petra...”

“Right. Right. Well, um...thanks for your opinion, anyway, Dorothea,” Caspar said. He seemed worked up, still, but almost a little troubled. Maybe Dorothea hadn’t failed, after all.

She watched his back as he rushed off. She was glad to see him leave; he was occupying too much space in her mind, when she could have been thinking about Petra instead.

* * *

Dorothea couldn’t sleep.

It was troubling to know that not even Petra’s touch could cure her. If anything, it only made her feel worse. Having Petra so close to her, seeing her, hearing her, smelling her, feeling her, tasting her—it just gave her more opportunities to look at what would soon be taken from her. 

She flip-flopped between thinking that Caspar couldn’t possibly go through with it and mourning, reminiscing about the boy in the opera-house, the man who was supposed to be her father, anyone who had so much as touched her shoulders with wicked intentions. How could she let Petra go through it? How could she have let Petra slip away? She’d told herself that she’d be the kind of person that she’d needed when she was younger, but she’d failed.

Dorothea had considered herself an excellent actress before Petra, but Petra was too perceptive to let anything get past her, and she knew Dorothea far too well. Petra often asked her if she was feeling alright, if she had been sleeping, if she had been eating, and Dorothea kept lying and saying yes. She didn’t let Petra out of her sight for even a minute; she skipped her meetings with the Professor, and lingered outside of the classroom as she waited for Petra to finish hers. Still, even knowing that Caspar hadn’t had the _chance_ to speak to her, Dorothea was afraid.

As they settled down for bed one night, cuddling in Petra’s bed by the lamplight, Dorothea hummed to herself, trying to ease both herself and Petra into a restful sleep. Usually Petra was reluctant to interrupt her, but she was only a few seconds into the song she was humming before Petra spoke up.

“Dorothea?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I...I know I have been asking very often, but are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, I’m feeling great! Just a little sleepy.”

“Ah...have you not been sleeping well? I apologize if I am making it difficult. I will do anything I can to help you sleep more soundly,” Petra said.

Dorothea prepared to respond with another dismissal—she was fine, she didn’t need anything, she would be alright. But the panic in her suddenly rose up, and began speaking for her. “Well, it...it might relax me a little if you could give me another good night kiss tonight. Is that okay?”

“Of course! I am becoming even better at kisses! I will relax you as best as I can,” Petra said. “Should I put the lamp out?”

“No, no. Leave it on,” Dorothea said. “I’ll get it later. Just come here, okay?”

Petra came closer, although it was hard for her to get much distance in the first place when they were in the same narrow bed. Petra was getting better at initiating kisses on her own, even though there was always a bit of hesitation when she did. Dorothea gladly waited for her to fully approach, knowing that the kiss was always sweeter when Petra was eager for it.

That night, sweet wasn’t enough.

Dorothea wasn’t rough, wasn’t causing Petra pain at all, but she certainly wasn’t lacking in passion. Petra was getting breathless as they kissed, mindlessly laying a hand on Dorothea’s hip. Without realizing it, Dorothea had rolled them over a bit, too, leaving Petra pinned beneath her. At first, Petra didn’t fight back, didn’t say a word, and Dorothea felt the need to press her luck.

It felt like time was running out. Like Petra was going to be taken from her at any second, and she could do nothing but wait for it to happen. The desperation showed through her touch, but Petra was taking it without a sound, letting Dorothea climb on top of her and kiss her breathless. 

She had to show Petra, Dorothea thought. Show Petra what it felt like to be loved, to be cherished, to be treated like she deserved. Other people, people like Caspar, they were cheaters, and liars, they were _filth,_ and Dorothea couldn’t let them get her hands on Petra. Not without Petra knowing what real love felt like.

It was hard, for Dorothea to come to terms with the fact that she was in love, but as her hands felt Petra’s thighs, feeling the muscled flesh cave to her fingers, and as she felt Petra breath hurriedly against her lips, she realized it couldn’t have been anything else. She _loved_ Petra, truly loved her, like nobody else would.

She couldn’t wait.

Petra put a tentative hand on Dorothea’s chest, not quite pushing her away, but Dorothea pulled back anyway. She instead went to kiss Petra’s neck, gently, gently, so as not to scare her. Petra made a new sound, one Dorothea hadn’t heard before, and Dorothea responded by leaving her a little love bite, being careful not to sink her teeth in too deep.

“Dorothea,” Petra whimpered.

Dorothea didn’t pause to hear the rest. She was too busy trying to chase away the thoughts of Caspar, laying his hands where Dorothea was laying hers—was it really too late? Could she really do nothing? No, she had to do something, even if it was inevitable...

Her hand went past the hem of Petra’s gown, up to the waistband of her panties. She felt the smallest hint of guilt, which made her backtrack, instead parting Petra’s legs and touching her through the fabric—

“Dorothea, don’t!”

Dorothea froze. She understood words like those all-too well, but they sounded foreign coming from Petra. She withdrew her hand, putting her hands on either side of Petra’s head to hold herself up and look down at Petra’s face. Petra looked confused, she looked embarrassed, she looked—Dorothea almost thought she looked _scared,_ but why would she be scared? “Petra? What’s wrong?”

“We should not...be doing this.”

“Oh, this? It’s fine, Petra, as long as it’s with me. It’s just like what they were doing in the book, just like kissing.”

“No, it...it is different, when you are touching down there...” Dorothea was in too deep. Just hearing Petra describe it like that made her dizzy. _Touching down there._ “I—I do not think we are supposed to...” Dorothea was already preparing another rebuttal, ready to remind Petra what she truly needed, but Petra stopped her in her tracks. “I-I do not want to.”

_Don’t want to?_

“It’s okay,” Dorothea said, slowly. She didn’t know how to proceed. Again, Petra had caught her unprepared, and she was scrambling to think of a response. “I-I promise it won’t hurt, Petra. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Petra said, in a way that made Dorothea wonder if she really knew. “But, I—”

“I promise, you can trust me, it’ll be perfect—it’ll feel amazing.”

“I’m sorry, Dorothea,” Petra said, and Dorothea was fighting with her temper again, trying to control herself. Petra seemed sorry, she said she was sorry, but how could she be, when she was denying every opportunity Dorothea could think of to help her? 

“Just promise me,” Dorothea said, then trailed off. Petra was looking up at her, and the fear seemed to have left her eyes, much to Dorothea’s relief. She spoke again. “Just promise me that you won’t let anyone else touch you, then, either. Okay? If anyone, it has to be me. Got it?” Petra nodded, but Dorothea shook her head. “No, no, let me hear you. You understand me, right, Petra?”

“I understand.”

“Okay. Alright. Good girl,” Dorothea praised. Petra smiled, albeit a bit less brightly than Dorothea was used to. Dorothea lowered herself next to Petra, settling down and resting her chin on Petra’s head. Even like that, she could see marks forming where her lips and teeth had been on Petra’s neck. She ran her fingers over them, feeling a bit conflicted. On one hand, she was horrified that she had lost herself to the point where marking Petra up like that was second nature to her.

On the other hand, nothing brought her more joy than to see the result of her efforts and remember how close she’d gotten.

* * *

Dorothea tried to make a hard turn back to normal in the coming days, and Petra didn’t fight her. The rejection that night didn’t seem to deter Petra at all. If anything, she seemed apologetic about it, baking another batch of cookies for her and Dorothea to share, and even trying her hand at dinner. It made Dorothea feel a lot better about what had happened. If anything, it was her fault for trying her hand and breaking her own rules. She knew that she’d treat Petra better than anyone could but wouldn’t Petra still be tainted, if it was Dorothea who touched her?

Dorothea wrestled with it, but Petra was good at keeping her distracted. The Wyvern Moon rolled over into the Red Wolf moon, which brought a more turbulent mission. Dorothea wasn’t too pleased with the idea of going to Remire, hearing about what was happening there, but she was able to look at the bright side: Petra would certainly be open to cuddling her, after seeing something so supposedly nightmare-inducing.

Then again, Petra was open to cuddle her anyway.

The day before their departure, Petra and Dorothea had agreed to have a tea date at noon. Now, Dorothea didn’t normally sleep in so late, although she loved luxury. There was usually something in her mind that told her to wake up at the same time every day, especially if she had an appointment to keep. So, she was a bit dismayed when she slept in a little late, and woke up at quarter-past noon, but not at all overly-concerned; Petra was surely waiting for her.

Except, she wasn’t.

She wasn’t standing outside of Dorothea’s door, she wasn’t in her room, she wasn’t in any of the gazebos or courtyards that they normally sat at. Dorothea had a bad feeling in her gut, only because she had encountered this scenario before, and the last time Petra had gone missing...

No. She couldn’t think like that. She’d told Petra not to speak with the likes of Caspar, and although Petra had acted defiant, there was no way she would disobey Dorothea so quickly. Dorothea had only missed fifteen minutes—oh, perhaps a little more, since she had to get ready to leave her room, but how could Caspar steal her away so quickly?

Dorothea questioned everyone she passed by, just barely keeping herself together and presenting herself as sane as she tried to look for Petra. She asked if they’d seen her, where was she going...she asked everyone she saw, until someone mentioned her travelling in the direction of the stables.

Dorothea made her way there as quickly as she could, trying not to break into a run. The passerby hadn’t said whether she was alone, or not, and Dorothea was too afraid to ask. Petra might have been speaking to the wyvern she’d been getting acquainted with, or helping someone feed the horses. She could have been doing anything.

But, just as Dorothea feared, she was speaking with Caspar.

Dorothea couldn’t even intervene. She hadn’t been spotted, but she was close enough to see that they were speaking in low voices, speaking intimately. Petra was listening intently, and Caspar was doing most of the talking, nervously gesturing with his hands and scratching his head and twiddling his fingers.

And then Petra spoke. 

And he smiled.

For a long minute, Dorothea was frozen in place, watching, trying to read their lips and their bodies. But then, she came to her senses, and backed away from the stables. She forced her hands to stop shaking. Nobody could know that anything was wrong, not yet. So she forced her hands to stop shaking, and she dabbed her tears away with her handkerchief, and she steadied her breaths, then returned to her room.

She sat on her bed, trying to make her mind go blank. It couldn’t be over, not yet, but she couldn’t think of what to do next, so she was trying not to think about it at all. When that didn’t work, she made herself think of all the good things. Petra, loving her, kissing her, hugging her, trusting her. Yes, Petra—Petra was going to come soon, and they were going to have tea, and everything was going to be incredibly normal, just like always, because nothing could ever change what they had.

Very good.

Dorothea kept going like that, and, true to her thoughts, Petra came into her room—how much time had passed? Dorothea wasn’t sure—Petra came into her room a little later, with a kettle that surely held a sweet-apple blend.

“I apologize for my lateness,” Petra said.

Dorothea laughed, just practiced enough to be convincing. “I’m the one who should be sorry! Really, I don’t know how I overslept like that...”

“Your body is telling you that it needs rest,” Petra said. She poured them both tea, and Dorothea picked up her cup and took a sip. Normal, normal, normal. “That is no fault of yours.”

Dorothea wondered if she should ask Petra what she had been doing while she waited for Dorothea to wake up. Petra would surely tell her; above all, she was an honest girl. But she was afraid to hear the answer. She was afraid to know about her own failings as Petra’s protector, as the one who truly loved her.

So she did not ask. She kept acting, kept sipping tea, and Petra didn’t mention a thing. Dorothea convinced herself that the conversation wasn’t what she thought it was, and that she had overreacted. Everything was fine. Petra was safe, Petra was hers.

But, Goddess, it would be so much better for her nerves if Caspar disappeared.

* * *

They went to Remire the next day.

It was just as awful as Dorothea had imagined it to be, if not moreso. As soon as she stepped foot there and smelled the rotting corpses, heard the screams, Dorothea felt the nightmares coming on. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to lie about them, after all. Watching the villagers’ suffering unfold made Dorothea want to stick close to Petra, protect her, shield her from what was happening, but in the heat of battle, Dorothea had to make sure she stayed alive to see Petra another day.

The fires roared as the villagers attacked one another, and Dorothea was struggling to keep track of it all. She tried to focus on surviving, but things only got more confusing when she saw the professor and Jeralt surging forward, towards what Dorothea had always believed to be Tomas—but before she knew it, he was gone, replaced with a man who looked much more sinister.

Dorothea couldn’t pay attention to what was happening near the back of the village, the battle in front of her, _and_ Petra at the same time, so she took her eyes off of Byleth and Solon, instead turning to the skirmish in front of her.

And there was Caspar, in the thick of it, as always. Dorothea managed not to be horribly irritated, still firing spells at the deranged villagers as Caspar pummeled them, but he summoned an emotion in her that was hard to contend with, even in the midst of battle. 

Dorothea thought the last of the corner they were in had been cleared out. Just as she was about to move away—preferably as close to Petra as possible—she heard a blood-curdling scream, far too close to her.

It was Caspar, downed by a hand axe thrown by a crazed villager. Petra surged forward to take down his attacker, but that still left Caspar on the ground, holding his side in pain. He was bleeding profusely, and was almost completely defenseless.

_Funny how things turn out._

“Dorothea!” Petra was calling for her, but not moving any closer. “You must be protecting Caspar—Linhardt is too far!”

It was habit for Dorothea to do whatever Petra asked her to, even in the middle of the battlefield, so she didn’t even bat an eye before moving over to Caspar. He could hardly stand, let alone walk, and she was forced to sling his arm over her shoulder and drag him over to a nearby wall. It was crumbling, decaying, but it was more than enough cover for them to not be vulnerable. The villagers were already mostly cleared out, anyways.

Caspar was whimpering, audibly, and Dorothea couldn’t stand the sound. “You’re going to be fine, Caspar,” she said, managing to sound only slightly annoyed.

“Hurts, it hurts—damn it, how did I get hit like that...agh...Thea, you’ve gotta help me...”

Dorothea wasn’t too experienced with white magic, and only really used it when she saw that Petra was in trouble, or if Linhardt was out of commission or occupied. And rarely had it ever been this bad, rarely had she been asked to heal such a grievous wound.

Really, nobody would have batted an eye at her if he didn’t survive.

Dorothea could never imagine _killing_ one of her classmates. Of course, she didn’t have a reason to, before Caspar started weaseling his way into Petra’s life. But even then, the idea of driving a sword through him, shooting an arrow into his heart, any of that...it was beyond her comprehension. 

But it was a different situation when he was right there, bleeding out in front of her, growing paler and quieter each second. It was different when she didn’t have to do anything, when all she had to do was sit there and look away for a few minutes to be rid of the only problem she had had ever since she laid eyes on Petra’s face. The pool of blood beneath Caspar was growing rather quickly, even as some of it sank into the dirt. It wouldn’t take long, and nobody was near them to see...

“Thea! Dorothea, please...”

He was still struggling. Dorothea laid a hand on his forehead, not minding the sweat and the dirt. Perhaps, in the end, he was a little like her—she always found similarities between herself and others, you see—in the way that Petra was radiant to him. Something radiant that he couldn’t look away from. If that was the case, she pitied him. But on the other hand, he was someone who she had just met. He could have been like every other boy that she assumed had good intentions. And that was why he had to die.

But those last moments, she would make them sweet. Just in case she was “wrong”, and he was “good”, whatever that might have meant. She smoothed his hair back, hushed him as he cried out for her again. “It’s alright, Caspar.”

“What? What are you...you gotta help me...”

His words were slurred. He was delirious. Panicked. “It’ll be over in just a little bit, dear. And you won’t feel a thing. Hush, now...”

She was surprised by how quickly he gave up and realized his situation. She wondered if she’d be like that when she died, too, fighting and fighting, until she resigned herself to her fate...or would she keep going, trying to deny the few minutes she had left? 

He didn’t even seem angry at her. Maybe he was too far gone to realize that she was letting him die. He instead began to cry, tears rolling down the sides of his face and into the dirt, but he didn’t have the breath to sob. Just silent tears. Eventually, he said, “Tell Petra...”

Dorothea twitched at the sound of her name at his lips. She’d give him that. She’d let him speak his dying wishes, even if they wouldn’t come true. Dorothea waited, looking down at his face, watching his lips struggle to move.

He couldn’t do it.

A few more minutes passed with him lying still, and Dorothea waited. She knew how to check for a pulse—Manuela had taught her, after too many scares when she had blacked out. His neck, his wrist; Dorothea pressed her thumb there, waiting to feel something. There might have been a faint feeling against her finger, or it might have been the beating of her own heart echoing through her body. Even if it was him that she felt, he surely wouldn’t make it back to the monastery.

Dorothea heard footsteps, and glanced up to see Linhardt and the professor running towards her. Tears, tears, she had to cry. Being in the opera, the audience was usually rather far from her, seated with a distance that made it impossible to tell whether she was crying or not. But she had a passion for her art, and she mastered the art of crying on command whenever the scene called for it, and this scene—her poor classmate, dead because of her failure to act—called for it.

“I couldn’t save him,” she said, and her voice cracked at the perfect part—right at the word “save”. The tears were coming, effortlessly. Maybe she really was sad.

Linhardt scoffed, almost sarcastic in his disbelief. “What? Dorothea, no, you can’t possibly mean...”

Linhardt came forward on shaky legs, but he did not come too close. Dorothea figured he wouldn’t, after seeing all of the blood. He turned away, and looked as if he were about to retch. Was it because of the blood, or because he saw the body of his best friend? He was an innocent casualty in all of it, Dorothea had already forgiven him for speaking to Petra a few moons before. But letting Caspar die, it was a very in-the-moment thing, and she couldn’t have possibly thought about what it would do...

“Leave him for now, Dorothea,” the professor said, quietly.

Dorothea stood, but Linhardt came to his senses, anger in his voice. “‘Leave him’? Professor, we can’t _leave_ him, how could you—”

“For now,” the professor repeated. “Don’t worry, Linhardt. I’ll take care of it. But leaving Dorothea to kneel over him won’t do anyone any good.”

Dorothea came to stand by the professor, laying her eyes on Linhardt. He had a hand over his face, probably in joint disbelief and the need to hold himself back from vomiting. She laid a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, none-too gently.

More footsteps. The rest of their classmates were coming, and—Petra. Petra was safe for another battle, standing out amongst the rest as she always did. She immediately came to Dorothea, concern in her eyes. “Dorothea? What has happened? Where is Caspar?”

“Petra...Petra, it’s awful, I...I watched him...I couldn’t...” 

The tears kept coming, just as Dorothea wanted them to, even after Petra was in her arms. It was like she knew exactly what to do when she saw Dorothea upset, holding her as close as she could. That embrace always made Dorothea feel safe, and protected, but right then, it was Petra who was crying into her, trying to hide it through deep breaths and tremors.

The battle was over. Everyone was quiet. Between Solon’s appearance, the insane villagers, and Caspar’s death, nobody knew what to say.

* * *

The way back to the monastery was a lot quieter without Caspar, and Dorothea found that that feeling of quietness did not go away in the next few days. But this kind of quiet was something that Dorothea wasn’t used to. For everyone else, the silence was personal, eerie, and disturbing. For Dorothea, it was calming, peaceful, like the clarity when a persistent ringing in your ears had finally stopped.

Petra was all hers.

She felt a brief spike in fear, wondering if someone knew somehow. But she had thought about it before, as Caspar was laying there, and it all added up. It was a dangerous wound, she was an inexperienced healer, they were alone for quite a while. Nothing pointed to her. Other than that, the only emotion she felt was euphoria, of some sort, although she wouldn’t quite call it that—that would have been too sadistic. She felt relief, to be more accurate.

There was also some guilt, partially felt out of concern for dear Linhardt, but mostly for Petra. She took it a little harder than Dorothea expected her to, looking a little spacey over the next couple of days. But she was also, much to Dorothea’s silent pleasure, much more vulnerable. She was by Dorothea’s side whenever able, just like before, but she was less chattery. She instead clung to Dorothea, even physically, as they went around the monastery. Petra had seen others die before, sure, but Caspar must have hit something inside of her that hadn’t been hit before. Dorothea wanted to be jealous, wanted to be bitter that he affected her so much even when he was gone, but she was too busy attending to Petra, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort to her.

She was sleeping with Dorothea every night, too. Usually, they slept in Petra’s bed, but Dorothea awoke one night to a knock at her door, and when she answered, Petra got into her bed and held her without a word. 

Things had turned out exactly as she wanted. But, still, she was thinking about the sting of rejection that Petra had introduced her to not long before, and the conversation Petra had had with Caspar in the stables. Dorothea wondered if Petra growing closer with Caspar was a factor in her rejection, although what Dorothea assumed to be his love confession came after. What if Petra’s mind was with Caspar instead, which made her turn Dorothea down? The thought made Dorothea sick, yet it also brought her a bit of hope.

After all, Caspar was gone, so what was stopping her now?

* * *

Them sleeping together every night, either in Dorothea’s bed or Petra’s, provided ample opportunity. But Dorothea was waiting, waiting for when the mood was right. It was like she knew in her mind exactly when Petra would be ready for her. The nights passed by slowly, with Petra more often than not crying herself to sleep in Dorothea’s arms, but after two weeks had passed since Caspar’s death, she was silent one night. Morose, depressed even, yet silent.

They had put the lamp out, and they were laying in silence. Dorothea knew Petra’s breathing well enough to know that she wasn’t asleep yet, so she called out for her. “Petra?”

“Yes?”

“You awake?”

“...Yes.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I...I cannot think about anything else, other than...”

Dorothea almost regretted asking. It was fair, though, for Petra to feel that way. It must have been hard. For her, for Linhardt, even for the professor, who had never lost a student like that...Dorothea could acknowledge their pain, at the very least. “I know. I know it’s hard.”

“We had so much to do. All of us. Together. And now it will remain undone, for him.”

“I know.”

“He was so strong...I wish I was more like him.”

“You already are, Petra. So very strong.”

“He told me...” Dorothea stiffened, and tried not to harden her grip on Petra as a result. But Petra took so long to continue talking that it was impossible not to grow tense. Finally, she said, “I am sorry, Dorothea. I have told you a mistruth again. N-not a mistruth, but a lack of telling you. Like the book...”

“There’s something you didn’t tell me? Well, that’s okay. You can tell me now,” Dorothea said, forcing her teeth to unclench. “What is it?”

Petra snuggled closer to Dorothea, looking for security. Dorothea offered it wholeheartedly with her embrace. “The day before Caspar...the day before we went to Remire, Caspar asked to talk to me. He took me to the stables, because he said...we would not be disturbed there. I-I was very afraid, and thinking of all of the things you told me about, but I wanted to trust him. And hear what he had to say.”

The fact that Petra was thinking about her while following Caspar was small comfort, especially knowing what came next. “And? What did he have to say?”

“He told me that he had a liking for me,” Petra said. “I did not know what to do. Caspar is—he was a great friend. And a worthy ally. But I was not feeling the same things that he was feeling, I thought, and so I told him. He became very scared, and asked if we could still be friends. I told him we could, and then...that was it. I promise.”

So, he hadn’t listened to her. He had tried his hand at Petra. That made Dorothea so mad, so angry, but—Petra had turned him down? She had listened to all that Dorothea told her, and turned him down? Petra didn’t feel anything for Caspar?

Had he died for nothing?

Dorothea was torn. She was happy, so happy that Petra was truly hers, her heart belonged to nobody else, but she was also conflicted about Caspar’s place in all of it. After a few seconds of thought, underscored by Petra’s little sniffles and hiccups, Dorothea told herself that she had to be right. Even if Petra had turned him down, that...for some men, that didn’t mean anything. Dorothea had saved her from the worst-case scenario, and that was that. Caspar _hadn’t_ died for nothing. If anything, saying he died for nothing would have made it so, right?

Dorothea had definitely done the right thing.

“It’s okay, Petra,” Dorothea said, finding Petra’s hand in the dark and winding their fingers together. “Thank you for telling me this. It means a lot that you shared this with me.”

“I am sorry I did not tell you sooner. There was so little time, and—at our tea party right after, I was still in shock. I did not think anyone would...feel this way about me. Since people can be so cruel. Should it not be impossible to feel such things towards me?”

“No, no! It’s not like that,” Dorothea responded, quickly. “Plenty of people will fall in love with you, Petra. You’re a lovely girl, that’s inevitable. But a girl like you, with so much innocence and purity, tends to draw...those of a less desirable crowd. Yes, plenty of people will fall in love with you, but you have to be smart about who you choose to pursue. So many people will say words to you, to make you think they really care about you, when it’s little more than an infatuation. But you made the right decision that day.”

“But now that he is gone...I feel some guilt. Like he would still be here if I had said yes to him.”

“Now, Petra, you know that’s not true.” Dorothea pulled her a little closer, kissed her forehead. Anything to make her feel safe, calm. She would have to be, if Dorothea was going to go through with what she was about to do next. “What happened was a bad stroke of luck. It was fate being cruel to us, and you can do nothing to change that.”

“I know that you are right. Yet I still cannot stop thinking that way.”

Dorothea was getting nervous. Or was she just giddy? She was suddenly unable to tell, her mind was racing so quickly. “You just need to be distracted, honey. That’s all. Lately, Caspar is all anybody has been talking about; it must be hard to escape.”

“Yes, it is...”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me, Petra. We can forget all about it,” Dorothea said. “Does that sound good?” Petra nodded against her, still holding Dorothea’s nightgown in her fist. She was like a child, vulnerable and naive and defenseless against the ways of the world. How could Dorothea ever protect her from it all? At least they had those hours, alone in the safety of the bed. Dorothea couldn’t live without it. Dorothea couldn’t live without her. “Oh, Petra...I love you.”

Dorothea had never said that to her before.

In fact, she might not have said it to anyone and truly meant it. Petra was her first love, the first person to truly consume her—did anybody else have the capacity to? Dorothea knew that protecting Petra was important, but there was another motive, one that she was coming to face as truth: she didn’t want anybody else to have Petra. Even if the perfect person came along, handsome and sweet and kind and head-over-heels in love with Petra, Dorothea would do her damndest to keep him away, because if Petra was gone, Dorothea would never find anybody else.

And so, Dorothea did not wait for a response. She wouldn’t allow herself to be pushed away, like Caspar had done. If there was a rejection coming her way, she didn’t want to hear it. Her lips went to Petra’s lips before Petra could say a word, finding them easily even in the dark. Dorothea wasn’t hasty like before; she took her time, letting Petra advance at her own pace. The only indicator of her wanting to do more was her hands, with one resting on Petra’s thigh and the other cupping Petra’s cheek.

Dorothea didn’t attempt to get on top of Petra yet, either. She was fine just like that, casually bringing her hand under Petra’s gown to rub her bare thigh. She had done so before, but that was when Petra was asleep, and Dorothea didn’t get the privilege of feeling her twitch. After the initial surprise, Petra was calm again, letting Dorothea pet her with no resistance.

Petra broke the kiss—it seemed like it was always her who broke away first—and buried her face in Dorothea’s chest again, sniffling. Again, Dorothea felt annoyed knowing that she was crying over Caspar, but she had also seen Petra’s weeping face in daylight before, and knew that she was just as beautiful as ever when she cried, if not moreso. It was too late to get up and light a lamp just to see her face, so Dorothea had no choice but to imagine it; reddened eyes, flushed cheeks, trembling lips, and tears aplenty.

“Don’t cry, Petra,” Dorothea soothed. “Let Dorothea take care of you.”

“Yes...okay...”

Petra sounded far away. She was so close to Dorothea, so close, but her mind was quite obviously elsewhere. There was no way she was still thinking about—no, no, Dorothea was going to remind her what was important. Before long, she wouldn’t be thinking about anything but how good she felt, and how much she loved Dorothea. Nothing else.

Dorothea shifted in the bed a bit, forcing Petra to roll onto her back, but didn’t climb atop her. Instead, she was somewhat draped over Petra’s side. That still gave her easy access to Petra’s front, and she took full advantage of it. Again, she was trying to move slower, be less forward compared to their first time. Her hand, although desperate to be between Petra’s legs, came to rest on Petra’s breasts. Petra’s hand shot up to cover Dorothea’s, but she didn’t attempt to move her away, allowing Dorothea to get her fill.

Dorothea listened closely to hear the sound Petra would inevitably make when Dorothea squeezed, but it was little more than a gasp, or maybe a sigh. Just from a blind touch, Dorothea could tell that Petra wasn’t quite the same size as her, but certainly bigger than the other two girls in their class. The fabric she was wearing was thin enough for Dorothea to feel her nipples through them.

“So good for me,” Dorothea praised, pleased by how quickly Petra’s body reacted to her. That was only after a light touch, with a barrier between them. Excited to see what else she could elicit from Petra, Dorothea slid the straps of the nightgown down Petra’s shoulders, then yanked down the front until she could feel the bottom side of Petra’s breasts against her knuckles. She rolled over to her side, then, latching onto one of Petra’s nipples after dragging her lips across the plain of Petra’s chest to find it.

Petra whimpered something that might have been a word, but Dorothea couldn’t make it out. It must have been a sound of pleasure, if the way Petra’s back arched was any indication. Dorothea wanted nothing more than to hear it again, knowing that she was making her sweet Petra feel good. One of her hands laid flat on Petra’s stomach as she sucked, feeling every inhale and exhale. Dorothea could feel Petra’s legs shifting next to her, as if she didn’t know what to do with them, or any part of her body. 

Dorothea had plenty of ideas, but they would have to wait. She wanted nothing more than to give Petra a little taste of what it was like to truly be loved; she would surely be coming back for more afterwards. Nobody else could have shown her like Dorothea was showing her. It almost made Dorothea ill, to think of someone like Caspar putting his dirty hands and wicked lips on Petra’s body. It was a marvel that she hadn’t done it sooner, the thought terrified her so.

But now that she finally had Petra, she wouldn’t let anyone else have her. She had lied to herself, thinking she could give Petra a sweet first time and then let her go. There was nobody else for Dorothea, nobody else for Petra—so they had to be together. 

“My Petra...do you know how lucky you are?” Dorothea’s lips moved against Petra’s nipple as she spoke, because she was too reluctant to pull her mouth away. “That we found each other. That you have me. I’m so happy, Petra. I wish I had had this...”

No, Dorothea wouldn’t sour it. She wouldn’t speak any further about those who wronged her. It all led up to this moment, where she finally had the chance to feel loved. In that way, it felt like it wasn’t just Petra’s first time, but hers, too.

But still, she was nowhere near thinking about satisfying herself. It was all about Petra, about making her feel safe, happy. Petra was shaking a bit, likely unused to feeling so good, and she wasn’t resisting at all. When Dorothea tried parting Petra’s legs with her hand, she was pleased to not receive a response like she had a few days before. Petra did close her legs, rather suddenly, like it was a knee-jerk reaction; but Dorothea kissed her breast again, tickled the inside of her thighs with her fingers, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Petra relaxed into the bed again and let Dorothea move her legs apart once more.

“Dorothea?” Petra had been oddly silent up until then, and Dorothea was overjoyed to hear her speak. “I don’t...I don’t know what to do. This is...”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to do a thing. You’re doing great,” Dorothea said. She took Petra’s cheek in her hand, and—were those tears? Was Petra crying? “What’s wrong, Petra? Tell me.”

“I’m not sure, I—I apologize. I...I only...”

“What is it? You can tell me.”

“I am not wanting to be alone. I do not want people to hate me, I do not want them to—to die.”

Dorothea shouldn’t have been thrilled by that. She shouldn’t have felt so satisfied by the shake in Petra’s voice.

“You won’t be alone. I’m here, Petra. But you have to trust me.”

“It will not hurt? What you’re going to do?”

“No, it won’t. Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s...”

“It feels good, right?”

“...I think so...”

“I guess you don’t know much about your own body, yet,” Dorothea said, sighing. She’d have to take it upon herself to educate Petra on the intricacies of the bedroom. It was hardly a burden, of course. “Even when they teach you about sex, they hardly ever tell you what it feels like for you, do they? Give me your hand, Petra.”

Dorothea fumbled around a bit until she found Petra’s hand, then briefly considered her next move. She thought about how good it’d feel if Petra’s hand was between her legs, no matter how clumsy she might have been—then changed her mind, instead continuing with her original plan and bringing Petra’s hand to her own panties. “What—”

“Just feel,” Dorothea coaxed, guiding Petra’s fingers to the crotch of her panties. When Dorothea pressed in, making Petra feel herself, she heard a soft sound of wetness between Petra’s pussy and the fabric. She had gotten so wet, just from Dorothea’s mouth and a few strokes of her hand. “Do you feel that, Petra? Have you ever gotten like that before?”

“Yes. O-once or twice,” Petra said. Dorothea was already glad to hear Petra sounding a bit more like herself, but it was even better to hear her saying words like that. And what came next was even better: “After we kissed...and sometimes when we get ready for bed.”

“You don’t have to sound shy. It’s normal.”

“After feeling that way, then I am supposed to do something like in the book? With a husband?”

“Yes, you—no. Not with a husband. With me, okay? But you don’t have to do anything. Just lay here, and let me take your mind off of everything. I mean it, Petra. Don’t think of anything but me, and how good it feels—nothing about Caspar, or Brigid, or Remire, or anywhere else but right here.”

Dorothea pressed her own fingers against the outline of Petra’s outer lips, feeling moisture coat her fingertips. When Petra next spoke, it was with an unstable shake to it. “I will try, but this is so strange to me. Like I am doing something...wrong?”

“Nothing like that. I’d never let you do something wrong, Petra. This is good.”

“I would only do this with you,” Petra said, on her own, as if to convince Dorothea. But Dorothea was already convinced. Petra had seemed almost repulsed by the idea of letting Dorothea touch her a few days before, but she was desperate for comfort, desperate to be shown what real love was like, and she must have realized that Dorothea was the only person that could give her those things and not destroy her. 

(At least, not completely.)

Petra was talking again, and it seemed as if the tears and sniffles had stopped, so Dorothea felt comfortable moving forward. She opened Petra’s legs open further, giving her ample room to straddle one of them. Petra's leg was firm enough for Dorothea to really grind on, but she didn’t do so just yet, instead keeping her attention on Petra. Just like she’d instructed Petra to do moments before, Dorothea brought her fingers to the increasingly wet fabric of Petra’s panties. They were ruined. Dorothea would replace them, maybe, with a new set that she could pick out personally.

“I’ll take them off,” Dorothea whispered, and she heard Petra shift—a nod of the head, perhaps. Petra moved around some more when Dorothea moved her underwear down, making it easier for Dorothea to get them off of her. Dorothea wanted to taste her, but she was willing to wait—they would have plenty of time. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to keep straddling Petra’s leg, feeling the bulk of it against her. “Can you feel it, Petra? How much I want you?”

Another nod. Dorothea gave Petra a peck on the lips, laughing to herself when Petra tried to follow her lips as she pulled away. Petra was ready for her. It had taken so long for both of them to come to terms with it, but they were ready for one another.

Petra came first, Dorothea had to keep reminding herself. Her hand went to Petra’s slit again, that time bare. Dorothea sighed at the feeling of Petra’s slick hitting her fingertips, knowing that that feeling was all hers. She had done this to Petra. Nobody else would ever know that feeling. They’d never know the gratification that came from arousing Petra, but Dorothea was learning it first-hand.

It was the sound, the innocent little sound of surprise that Petra made, that convinced Dorothea to allow herself to finally make good use of Petra’s legs, only because she couldn’t hold back any longer. Timing the roll of her hips with the glide of her fingers across Petra’s lips made her feel like they were in sync, which only made her grow more excitable.

“I’m gonna put one inside, alright, Petra? It won’t hurt, I promise. Just lay back and relax for me,” Dorothea said. Petra grasped Dorothea’s upper arm, but Dorothea wasn’t deterred. It was amazing, feeling Petra’s walls close around her fingers. Petra took it so well, just like Dorothea knew she would. Dorothea’s lips, after many nights of doing so in the dark, easily found Petra’s jaw to place kisses there. 

Petra’s moans were growing louder, but Dorothea cared not about anyone who might have overheard. Nothing mattered except what was going on in that room, in that bed, between the two of them. Dorothea had already eliminated the interloper, and with that, she was free to indulge in bliss. She almost felt like sobbing, hearing Petra make such sweet sounds at her hands. It wouldn’t have been fair for anyone else to experience Petra like Dorothea got to. It wouldn’t have been fair to Petra to be tainted by someone who didn’t truly love her, and it wouldn’t have been fair for Dorothea to be scorned again, after being _gracious_ enough to protect Petra from the selfish, the filthy, the impure—

It was so right. Petra’s thigh slotted perfectly between Dorothea’s, her pussy squeezed Dorothea’s finger just so. The thought of someone else’s hands on Petra made Dorothea sink her teeth into Petra’s neck, just to mark her and hear her cry out. “See? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I-I think so. My heart is beating very quickly,” Petra said, and it showed in her voice. “I am not sure what to do...”

“I already told you, silly. Lay there and be good for me. That’s all you have to do.”

Petra made some sort of noise that made Dorothea wonder if she was displeased, but still, she didn’t fight. That was another thing that turned Dorothea on beyond belief; Petra was no longer afraid of her, completely trusting Dorothea to do as she wanted with her body. Dorothea forced another finger past the resistance of Petra’s walls, and sighed once it was in, pressing down harder against Petra’s leg. She was really feeling it on her clit, then, as she had found just the right angle to grind against Petra with. 

“Feels good for me, too, Petra. Can you feel how wet I am, dear?” Dorothea rolled her hips hard, trying to drive her point home. “That means I’m ready for you to touch me. But not yet. Tonight, it’s all about you, making you feel good.”

Petra’s leg, the one Dorothea was so lovingly fixing herself to, bent upwards in a stiff motion. Dorothea gripped it with her free hand, holding it in place so it was easier to stimulate her clit. Petra’s deserved some attention, too, Dorothea thought, and the pad of her thumb began to circle Petra’s rosebud. She’d probably never been touched there so lovingly by someone else—no, she definitely never had. Perhaps she hadn’t even touched herself there, with the intention of getting off.

“This, right here—it’s called your clit, Petra,” Dorothea said. She almost attempted to hide her smile, not wanting Petra to know how much satisfaction explaining that gave her, but it was dark, anyways. “It’s nice when I touch it, right?” A shaky whimper in the affirmative. “It’s good when you...grind it up on something, too, like your pillow, or—or someone’s body. Like I’m doing to you. Want me to keep touching yours?” Another whimper. “You have to tell me using your words, now, Petra. Don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t want.”

“Keep touching,” Petra said, desperate. Another phrase came after, Brigidian, sounding twice as needy. Dorothea wondered if her mouth, which was twice as skilled as her hands, could have procured a few more foreign phrases from Petra’s lips. However, she’d worked up a pretty nice rhythm, grinding against Petra’s leg, and moving herself downward to eat Petra out would have deprived her of something she’d been needing for quite a while.

The only thing Dorothea regretted was not having more hands, perhaps another mouth, so that she could do everything at once. “Touch your nipples for me, Petra. Just like I did earlier.”

Dorothea couldn’t see, but she felt Petra moving beneath her, heard the movement of her nightgown even over the wet sounds of her fingers inside of Petra. The sharp inhale told Dorothea exactly when Petra started touching her chest. Dorothea tried to visualize it. Petra’s chest was rather hefty, unbefitting of the rest of her youthful image, but still supple and gorgeous to Dorothea all the same. Two dusky nipples topped them off, which Petra was surely skimming over with her fingers, perhaps even pinching them. 

Dorothea heard more Brigidian coming from Petra’s lips, that time sounding more like a curse or a swear than a plea. No matter what it was, Dorothea’s head spun at the sound of it, and without noticing at first, her hips jerked faster and her fingers moved a bit more roughly. After a few more pumps of her fingers, she noticed that Petra’s honey was leaking onto her sheets, more proof of their mutual love.

“You’ve always been so good for me, Petra. Even when you didn’t listen to me, I always, always knew that you’d be good for me,” Dorothea said. She had a tendency to ramble, both inside and outside of sexual contexts—but she especially liked monologuing during lonely nights in her room, thinking of Petra as she touched herself. Now that Petra was right in front of her, likely still coherent despite the heady sounds she was making, Dorothea was speaking whatever came to her mind. “I knew the moment I first saw you, I had to make you mine.”

Petra struggled to speak a few times, breath hitching as if she were about to sob, her voice rising a few octaves without her meaning to do so.“I...I am. I’m yours.”

“Oh, I know you are, love. I know,” Dorothea sighed. She was hardly ever so easy, but just rutting against Petra was nearly enough for her to finish. “I’m close, Petra. Are you? Huh? Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Am I...close? C-close to...I am sorry, I do not understand.”

So cute. So, so cute. How could Dorothea _help_ herself? “Is it getting hotter? Do you feel something building up in you, like you’re going to burst?”

“I think? I’m not sure. But it—it feels good.”

“Make sure you’re relaxing, Petra. If you feel something really good, don’t—don’t hold it back at all. Make sure you tell me when. And keep touching your breasts, just like I told you, okay?”

Dorothea had said quite a bit, she was sure, but Petra moaned her assent anyway, clearly still following Dorothea’s instructions. Dorothea left another hickey on Petra’s throat, softer that time, and then another. 

“Thea,” Petra gasped. She held Dorothea so tight that it hurt. Dorothea was a little dismayed that Petra had stopped toying with her nipples, since she was embracing Dorothea with both hands. But Petra’s thighs were clamping down around her fingers, trembling. She hardly ever called Dorothea by that nickname, either.

Dorothea closed her eyes, and the room grew darker. She couldn’t see Petra’s face anyway, so she focused on the sound, the feeling, of Petra’s climax. Although she still moved her hips, she did so only to keep herself teetering near the edge of an orgasm, instead focused on Petra. She did not speak, however tempting it was to coo in Petra’s ear and praise her for letting her body succumb to Dorothea so easily.

It had been a while since Dorothea felt someone finishing beneath her, and the last time it had happened, she felt soiled, like her body had served as a means to an end. Petra was different. Dorothea felt like she’d won something, like she’d accomplished a goal that had been so singular in her mind for what felt like forever. She almost felt disappointment when Petra settled down again, and kept fingering her, kept thumbing her clit, wondering if she could drag another one out of her.

But Petra’s moans were starting to sound a bit pained, and Dorothea would keep her promise—she had no intentions on hurting Petra in a way that didn’t feel good. “That’s alright, Petra. That was excellent, wasn’t it?”

And, to Dorothea’s excitement, Petra gave her quite the direct answer, despite being out of breath. “Y-yes.”

Dorothea pulled her fingers out of Petra, lifting her hips off of Petra’s thigh just enough to put that same hand between her own legs. The moment she felt the warmth, of her own hand, of Petra’s juices, on her clit, she nearly fell over. Dorothea kept her body firm against Petra’s, chest-to-chest, breathing heavy and hot into the curve of Petra’s neck. This was just the beginning. Having the same hand that had touched Petra putting such lovely pressure on her clit made her think about what all they could do. Grinding against one another, tasting one another. Dorothea could buy toys, little things that wouldn’t be too scary, for them to use together. Even if they did it the same way every single night until the day they died—together, surely—Dorothea was excited by the prospect of _being_ with her.

Dorothea swore. She was almost there, just from a simple touch and the _thought_ of Petra being with her. Despite all of the arousing fantasies she had, what did her in was the hesitant hand coming up from beneath her, coming to rest on the back of her head. Petra made a movement that was somewhere in between stroking Dorothea lovingly, and pulling her closer.

Dorothea came with a sob.

She had been touching herself to the thought of Petra night after night, but never had she done it with Petra right there, living, breathing beneath her. She rubbed the side of her cheek against Petra as she finished, ghosted her lips across her skin, anything to remind herself that Petra was _there._ Petra’s hand kept tangling itself in Dorothea’s hair, running her fingers through wavy locks. Dorothea reached up and did the same, settling down as her and Petra caressed each other.

A silence fell over the room as they both calmed down. Dorothea was thinking quite a lot, thinking about Petra’s body and her voice and her smile—anything about her beloved Petra, really, as it all made her heart race just the same. Simultaneously, she was wondering what Petra was thinking about. Petra made a noise, almost as if she were confused, although neither of them had moved an inch, and Dorothea thought that was a good chance to ask. 

“How are you feeling, Petra? You’re awful quiet.”

“I apologize. I think I am...losing my words. No, I have lost them.”

Ah, two tries and she still didn’t get the saying right. Well, Dorothea wouldn’t correct her, it was cute. “I hope that’s a good thing.” Petra didn’t respond. That was fine. She must have been rather tired. “Let’s get undressed, okay?”

Again, Petra was silent, only moving just enough for Dorothea to get her clothes off. Even once they were naked, pressed against one another and dozing off, Dorothea could feel that Petra was hesitant. Dorothea had been, too, after her first time—but it was different with Petra. Dorothea never got over it. Even with someone as sweet as Petra, her mind couldn’t help wandering to all the times she hadn’t wanted it. But Petra would never have to endure something awful, she’d never have flashbacks to something she hated, she’d never overhear others talking about sex and freeze up, because she’d had her first time with someone good—no, Dorothea knew she was an awful person inside, but not to Petra. Never to Petra.

She’d loosen up, eventually. Once she realized how good she had it.

* * *

The monastery was grieving, still, but Dorothea was over the moon. Something had changed in Petra, for the better, the night after they slept together. They were closer than ever before, Dorothea thought, since Petra seemed reluctant to ever leave her side. She was asking Dorothea for more favors in the coming days, too. Before, although Petra was always enthusiastic when seeing Dorothea, she often drifted towards others, drifted away from Dorothea. But there wasn’t a hint of that left. She was stuck to Dorothea like glue. The only thing that could have possibly made it better was if that last bit of desolation in her eyes, a remnant of Caspar’s passing, could disappear...

In time, Dorothea reminded herself. Until then, all she could do was hold Petra close to her chest, keep her safe—Dorothea regretted what happened to Caspar, too, but letting someone get too close to Petra would mean that she had to do it again. Despite how ridiculous she found it that Petra was hanging onto it for so long, Dorothea would hate to put her through it again if something happened to another one of their classmates.

For a while, it seemed like that wouldn’t be a problem. Knowing how fiercely protective Dorothea was, and how shattered Petra was, many people didn’t approach.

Of course, only Linhardt would be so bold.

Dorothea had come to despise having conversations with outsiders since she’d grown close to Petra, and she had given up on pursuing well-off men entirely. Needless to say, she wasn’t pleased when Linhardt came up to her in the dining hall, just as her and Petra were about to take their meals back to Dorothea’s room.

Eager to move things along, Dorothea spoke before he could. “Linhardt! How can I help you?”

“Good evening, Dorothea. And...Petra.” Linhardt nodded in Petra’s direction, and Petra offered a smile. Dorothea swallowed. “Dorothea, if I could pull you aside for a moment?”

“Oh? Whatever for?”

“A private matter.”

“Of what sort?”

“Dorothea,” Linhardt said, exhausted. “Please.”

If she’d put up a fight a little longer, he might have abandoned the subject solely out of irritation. But Dorothea didn’t want to be bothered with it some other day, so she stepped outside, gesturing for him to follow behind her. Once all three of them had gotten out of the hustle and bustle of the dining hall, standing near the entrance facing the lake, Dorothea turned to Petra. “You can go back inside and eat if you’d like, Petra.”

“No, I will wait for you. I will stand to the side. If you believe I am within hearing range, Linhardt, please, do not hesitate to tell me.”

Petra stepped off—out of Dorothea’s line of sight, unfortunately. Dorothea definitely had to make things quick. “Alrighty. What is it, Linhardt?”

“It’s about Caspar.”

Dorothea had been cornered before. Cornered by people far more threatening than Linhardt. She didn’t bat an eye—wait, no, tears. She exhaled, being sure to shake as she did, and conjured up tears. “I...I see. This is a rather sensitive subject for me, Lin, so I hope you—

“I’m sure it is.” Oh. Well, that tone was...a little jarring. Linhardt seemed on the verge of tears himself, but with far less theatrics. He looked like he hadn’t slept, or had been sleeping too much. The latter was more likely for him. “But I’m not coming to ask you about what happened. I’m sure you’ve been asked more than enough. I was coming to ask you about Petra.”

“Oh? What about her?”

“Caspar told me the day before we went to Remire that he’d had a chat with you. About confessing to Petra,” Linhardt said. He paused, yawned, then continued. “He said you tried to dissuade him from doing so?”

“I did. I just personally didn’t think it’d be good for Petra, y’know. Or for him, either. I didn’t want either of them to get hurt,” Dorothea said. More tears. “Oh, but now, looking back, I feel awful for being so upfront with him—”

“I’m sure Petra told you already, but he confessed to her anyway. And was turned down.”

“Yes, she did.”

“It’s really funny, because—”

“You know, my supper will get cold, Lin—”

“He came bawling to my room, all upset about it, and once I managed to calm him down—”

“That’s awful, really—”

“He laughed and said, ‘if Dorothea finds out I did that, she just might kill me’.”

“What an awful thing to say.”

“Even more awful if it were true.” Dorothea could not think of a response. She was quick on her feet, and knew exactly what was going to come from that conversation, but still, she was unprepared. “But he was just joking, of course. He would never even consider one of his own classmates killing him. It was unthinkable to him. I know Caspar—if he was really afraid that that would happen, he wouldn’t have said it. The thought had never crossed his mind that you would actually kill him.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Lin.”

“I’m aware.”

“And, if I’m being frank, I don’t like how you’re approaching me with this.”

“Alright. Since we’re being frank, then I _will_ ask about what happened that day. Because I’ve seen you on the battlefield, Dorothea, and you’re _far_ from incapable as a healer. So, I want to know what happened.”

“Oh, gods. You—you really think I did it on purpose,” Dorothea said, a little louder than intended. Good. Maybe someone would come save her, even Petra—Linhardt was coming at her too strongly, then, and maybe she’d underestimated how intimidating he could be. “Linhardt, this isn’t funny. You can’t possibly—”

“Tell me what happened, Dorothea. If you messed up, that’s one thing, fine—maybe it _wasn’t_ on purpose! But you’re not telling the truth. Don’t you think Caspar’s family deserves that? Don’t you think I, and all of the other Black Eagles, and the professor, and everyone who has so much as said ‘good morning’ to him deserve to know what happened?”

“You _know_ what happened, Linhardt! I took him behind the wall, and I used a mending spell on him, but it wasn’t enough—”

“And if I were to speak to Manuela and ask her to perform a proper autopsy on him, it would reflect that?”

_No. No. No. No._ “Of course it would! What are you even saying?!”

“Then maybe I’ll do just that.” Linhardt was breathing quickly, then, his narrow chest moving quite visibly. “That should be fine, right? Since you know what it will bring.”

“Do whatever you’d like, Linhardt. But just know that I’ll never, ever trust you again after this. For you to accuse me of being a murderer—”

“I never said that.”

“You might as well have! Confronting me over some _stupid_ joke Caspar made—as if he didn’t say and do foolish things every day of the week,” Dorothea snapped. Linhardt remained silent after her outburst, as if waiting for her to say more. But she wouldn’t. No, Linhardt had his mind made up. She’d have to...she’d have to find another way. “Just...get away from me. I can’t even look at you right now. And if you think I won’t tell anyone how you treated me, you’re wrong.”

“If I speak to Manuela and she proves my suspicions wrong, Dorothea, I will apologize to you. Publicly, if that’s what you want. The risk of embarrassment is nothing compared to making sure Caspar...”

Dorothea didn’t care about what he had to say next. She didn’t care. Again, her mind was clouded, she couldn’t think about Petra’s sweet smile and hair and hands and laugh when filthy people like Linhardt and Caspar were trying to rot her brain. “I’ll look forward to your apology, then.”

She turned on her heel, and he did not call after her. True to her word, Petra was quite the distance away, and—oh, how precious. She’d started picking at her food a bit, her dessert, and a bit of chocolate cake was stuck to the corner of her mouth. Dorothea sighed, right into a laugh. “I’m sorry, Petra. You really are hungry, hm? Did I take that long?”

“Ah! How did you...” Petra swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes, I ate a bit...is everything alright? What did Linhardt want to discuss with you?”

_Don’t vomit. Don’t cry, don’t shake._ “Nothing much. Really, it’s trivial, and you have better things to worry about—honestly, I’ve forgotten half of the conversation already.”

She hadn’t. She hadn’t forgotten at all. _If Dorothea finds out I did that, she just might kill me. You’re far from incapable as a healer. And if I were to speak to Manuela and ask her to perform a proper autopsy on him, it would reflect that?_

Dorothea couldn’t get caught, they couldn’t find out. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but nobody else would understand—the soiled masses of Garreg Mach could never understand how important it was to protect someone like Petra. The only thought that managed to be as scary as Petra being taken away was her being alone, and if Dorothea were caught...

No, she was in the clear. Only Linhardt suspected anything was wrong. Manuela was out of the office for the weekend, so Dorothea had two days. Two days to put something together. It would be harder than it was for Caspar—an opportunity as perfect as that wouldn’t come again. But, oh, between the awful mystery novels and the convoluted opera plots, Dorothea would think of something to get rid of Linhardt before Manuela even heard the question. Poison might be the best way to go. Dorothea couldn’t stand the blood of a gruesome murder, and although Linhardt was a pain in her ass, she wouldn’t leave him to die in a pool of what he hated the most...

“Dorothea? Can we go to your room, now?”

It pained her to have her mind away from Petra for even a moment, it did. But after Linhardt...they’d be in the clear. She just had to do one more thing. And then it’d be them, just them, forever and ever, with no end in sight. “Oh, sorry, Petra. Lost in thought. Yes, let’s go.”

A secret visit to Hubert’s room to survey his serums. An unattended plate of food, an abandoned drink. So fast. So easy. Everything was coming together, although Dorothea couldn’t have imagined doing such a thing before Petra came into her life.

But the thrill of that happy ever after, of protecting the girl that used to be her...it was unbeatable.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [follow me on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)


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